Absolute Zero
by Miss Minerva
Summary: It seemed as though Balance would return to the world after the destruction of magic. Then the first flakes of snow began to fall . . . Now Locke and Celes must head towards Narshe in search of an answer. Some means of survival.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. They are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**"Absolute Zero"**

  
  


Part One: The Snow falls

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars"

-Oscar Wilde

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Snow Storm**

  
  


It was about four moments past the hour of noon, the scholars say, that the first flake fell. To all the commoners it was the first moment of the beginning of the end. The end of balance forever. Or, as Locke would have put it, "For-eva and eva". The scattered particles soon became a white oblivion. Throughout the remnants of the world of balance the cries of terror echoed loudly.

Apocalypse!

But no, it was not to be. Not completely.

What the scholars failed to see, what they couldn't possibly have seen, remained secluded from then for years to come. It was in the air, the wind, the very breath of the few people who would never allow balance to return to ruin so suddenly. The scholars themselves were too preoccupied by the observation of weather patterns, the scribing of long-winded scrolls, and the recording of the greatly increasing body count. 

They could not see the whiteness for the snow.

They were as taken up in the occurrence as the rest. The beginning of a harsh new ice age.

Snow Storm.

  
  
  
  


**Ice Queen**

  
  


"You say that," he laughed, "but you wouldn't dare! I'm telling you, you're cold, cold, my dear! Princess of the ice. The Ice Queen!!"

"Shut up!"

"No. I won't do."

"You had better!"

"And what are you going to do, my dear?"

"You'd like to know."

"Ha, Right! You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"Face it. You haven't got the guts anymore. Imperial general, indeed!"

"You're such a crook!"

"Okay, now that's a low blow! Now it's getting personal."

"Typical of you. You dish it out but can't take it!"

"Ice, my dear. The queen of ice...."

  
  
  
  


**Treasure Hunting**

  
  


It had been three years since Locke had asked Celes to come travel with him. Three years of aimless seeking. What were they seeking, you ask? Well, it was a search based on happiness, answers, the Balance, freedom, and a hope for the future.

Or as Locke would say, "We're lookin' for the goods, my dear, the goods." Treasure hunting, while a quite valid occupation in these difficult times, was basically the search of a "thrill du jour". The constant awaiting of some great adventure, some new locale.

Celes, in her decision to travel with Locke, had left behind her fears and self doubt in hope that she would find a deeper meaning to the ruined world around her. Her ambitions were nothing great. She was just seeking a personal closure. Maybe to discover her true self, buried beneath all the magitek and genetic testing. Locke, on the other hand, had no greater reason for the journey than that it was what he did. Perhaps running was what he did best, but he rarely spoke of those matters as the past was best left to the past. Either way, they both wanted to find a new hope lying among the ruins. Together, they travelled, as they both agreed it should always have been. Soul mates? Maybe. Best friends? Yes, definitely. They weren't the type to fuss about it, but they were totally reliant on each other now. As if they had always been that way.

So, that's how the story goes. Or begins, I should say. The quiet search of two treasure hunters.

  
  
  
  


**White Dust**

  
  


"Come here, Celes." Locke mumbled as he peered over the cliff onto the Veldt below. She slowly meandered up the steep slope until she stood beside him.

"Yeah....."

"Do you see that?" Silently they both stared out over the grassy wilderness. 

"What am I looking at?" she asked, "I don't see anything."

"There" he made a motion towards the sky. "Do you see that?" Celes followed the delicate particles across the sky. Soft, cold and white.

"That isn't...."

"Uhhuh."

"Snow?

"Snow"

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Permafrost**

  
  


"But it never snows on the Veldt." Celes fretted, "I hardly ever snows anywhere"

"Exactly what I was getting at, my dear." Locke frowned and brought himself to sit beside Celes. "What you suppose is happening?"

"It's unexplainable. I don't like the look of this, Locke." she peered at him with hard, worried eyes. Furrowed her brow. "What could be the cause of it?"

"I wish I knew." he reached for her and pulled her near. The wind was beginning to cut with it's icy hands. "You're cold." He rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders in an effort to warm her.

"Everything is cold." She glanced around with an icy stare as the sky became increasingly white and shards of ice hit off her face. As pale and pure as her fair skin and white-blond hair. Though somehow it didn't comfort her to have been once injected with the essence of this element. It scared her, really.

"Don't worry, coz we'll get it all straightened out. Someone will know what's happening here. Perhaps if we can get to Narshe?" He wrapped himself around her and felt her shiver. Or was that him?

"I hope so."

  
  
  
  


**Narshe, the aftermath**

  
  


Narshe had been a ghost town for four years after the ruin. Until recently, the once proud town had been home to only wild dogs, rats, and lots of nasty, icy weather. Nobody could ever explain why Narshe had always been in perpetual winter**, **but most of the obvious explanations included it's location in the Northern Continent. Of course, the scholars had explored the fact that the mines in Narshe still bear traces of magic. Or the aftermath of magic, I would seem. Esper and all.

Since the ruin, the world had been slowly crumbling. Everyone wanted to believe that the flowers and shrubs that were sprouting up had actually taken root. Spring is coming, they said. Spring is coming. 

Then the snow came. 

Anyway, scholars had returned to the school in Narshe to resume studies in recent years due to the forecast of this ice age. Fearing the worst and not wanting to believe the rumors and fortune tellers, they searched for answers among Narshe's ruins.Hoping that something of use actually remained. 

But there wasn't anything left, not even a moogle.

  
  
  
  


**Moving on**

  
  
  
  


"Well, there's no sense in holding on here much longer anyway**." **Locke proclaimed, "What with the snow, it just confirms it." He was quietly shoving his belongings into a pack. The dim light made this work tedious. Celes sat on the make-shift bed, her face lit with light from the candle nearby.

"Yes, I suppose so," she sighed. "Nothing to stay here for. Just like everywhere else."

"We will find something somewhere. Don't worry"

"Yes, Locke." she turned to sleep, "But what will it be? Is anything at all worth finding?"

"Don't be so pessimistic, dear," he flung a sock at her, rousing her from rest. "There's always something interesting waiting to be found."

"You just go on believing that, Locke. Your innocence amuses me sometimes."

"Yeah.......sure it does." He sat next to her on the bed. He gave her a jab in the ribs. "So where are we heading tomorrow?"

"Thought you knew....." she lulled, "I dunno.... Narshe, you said...."

"That will take days. We need to plan for a few stops along the way."

"Yeah...."

"Any suggestions?" Celes sat up, aggravated at being disturbed from her rest.

"We'll just find some low-life scum and hang out with them as we always do, I suppose."

"Funny. Why don't you become a comedian, Celes? You so amuse me."

"Thanks. Always a pleasure...." Celes was cut off by Locke's attack on her, tickling her and eventually toppling her off the bed. This was quickly retaliated by the tough ex-general as she pulled him down and flipped him over her shoulder unto the floor. She laughed and returned to her place on the bed.

"Well, I didn't much want to sleep there anyway.." Locke tried to feign hurt.

"It was your turn to have the couch."

Locke shot her his fiercest, sauciest grin.

  
  


**Mountain trails, Flight memories, and a bottle of Sangria**

  
  


An early rise and they were on the move once more. Over the mountains from the Veldt, they would cross for a day at least, then to Nikeah, then Figaro, then finally Narshe. Snow was falling again this morning and Locke stood atop a freshly whitened rock, searching the horizon.

"Celes, dear."

"Yes?"

"Do you remember the feeling of flying? Great bit, that was." She smiled, wistfully. Careening his arms around like an airship.

"You nut," she grabbed as much snow as she could and threw him a pitiful snowball in the head. It barely registered.

"That the best you got?" 

"Yeah, you got me." She picked out an old map from her pack. Treasure maps, she laughed. A little absently, delayed, she replied.

"I remember flying well. I loved it. The feeling of wind in your face. Like no other." She looked up. "Do you suppose Setzer still flies?"

"Probably," Locke shrugged, "I would." He jumped from his perch and grabbed her map. "What're you doing with this useless thing? I've got it all stored in here!" He tapped his bandana covered brow. Celes laughed, rolled her eyes.

Hours passed. Feet grew cold and aching. Toenails threatened to fall off from frostbite. The pair found rest in a mountain cave. A warm respite.

"Hard travelling now," Celes warmed her feet with her hands.

"This oughta help," Locke displayed a bottle of Sangria, quite proudly. 

"Wonderful!" Celes pulled out a corkscrew and they were soon drinking deep mouthfuls of the bittersweet wine.

"There is nothing I've eva enjoyed more"

"What, the wine?"

"No, this. . . You. Me."

"It is something to treasure," She smirked, but truly meaning it.

  
  
  
  


**Seaport**

  
  


They entered Nikeah nearly completely drunk. Or "Totally fuckin' pissed," as Locke said. Celes had tied her tangled strands into a head scarf, but still looked rough, and half in the bag on top of the mess. Locke was, well, Locke. Not too much to be expected there. His travel-worn jacket was a staple clothing item, and that was three sizes too small. His taste in jewellery left something to be desired as well. Yeah, Locke was pretty prone to looking like a mess. A treasure hunter, indeed. Celes considered herself lucky he was still wearing anything on his feet.

When they entered the Nikeah town pub, they barely raised eyebrows. Hardly a classy operation at the best of times, and now, it was just seedy. Even that would be a compliment. Most of the patrons of the bar didn't even look up, and if they did they didn't give a second glance. One hard guy in the corner eyed Locke like he'd make a good punching bag, which was a pretty common reaction for Locke. As previously stated, he dressed, well, oddly. Even by vagrant standards.

"That hard bloke in the corner." Locke whispered to Celes, amusedly. "Looks like he wants a fight. . ."

"Forget it, champ." She eased them both into a booth. "You're too drunk. Leave him there."

"But I'd never dream of it, dear. I don't cause fights, you know."

"Yes, Locke, I know."

"They always just come to me."

They rested in the pub for hours, engaging in quiet chats with a few familiar characters. Occasionally telling a few rowdy stories (they rowdy part being mostly provided by Locke). After they had gulped down a few more malt beverages, they bought a room and rested well. Celes, though it was her turn on the floor, had no trouble in talking Locke into letting her sleep curled next to his back. Falling into a deep, alcoholic slumber, Locke felt the soft, warm figure of Celes against his skin and dreamt of ways to insure this sleeping arrangement would become the standard.

Outside, the winds howled. Snow continued to fall.

  
  


**The Cry Goes Out**

  
  


In Narshe, the citizens had known winter like a parent. They grew hard under its watchful eye, sheltered themselves accordingly. They already draped themselves in fur and lit their fireplaces daily, but even they could not ignore the signs. Preparations were being made.

In Zozo, already snow covered by this time, people fled. Those that didn't, those too poor to relocate, were dead within weeks. It remained forever a ghost town. Growing more ghastly and startlingly white by the day.

From Jidoor to Thamasa to the remains of Vector, the cry went out. Anyone lively enough to take notice was planning to build shelters for the storm. A place to hide. A get away plan. Strangers became neighbours became family, and everyone was making their alliances. 

The ruined town of Mobliz, already fashioned like a bomb-shelter of sorts, needed no preparations. When the budding rosebushes began to wilt, the green haired girl, Terra, knew in her heart what would happen. She knew even before the snow. She went to great lengths to store, repair, and secure her home which also served as shelter for many young children, a new family, and several newcomers every so often. A number that increased whenever fate brought a lost soul to her door. She was prepared. She couldn't afford not to be.

Here, in her underground paradise (a strange word to use, though it now really was) she felt warm and safe. This particular night she lay quietly in her quilt, mending a jacket for her close friend, Katarin. Terra thought of old memories, active memories, from before the change in the world. Where were her long lost friends? She had welcomed several of them into to her home on occasion, a visit here and there. They have grown less frequent and she knows the recent events will make that occurrence even less likely. She thinks of kind, impetuous Locke, and steadfast Celes. She sent out a prayer to them both and hoped they were warm, safe, and most of all, together. 

  
  
  
  


**Ice**

  
  


Celes awoke abruptly, in the middle of the night. The fire had gone out and it had grown very cold. She relit it with the kindling by the fireplace, thanked the heavens they even have a fireplace, and moved to the window. She watched the cold, now wet, glitter falling, and felt utterly alone.

This was once her element. Maybe it still is.

She doesn't want to believe this, hasn't believed it for some time now. Locke warms her. Makes her feel human. Complete.

The trees outside were covered in an icy glaze. She shuddered. Went back into bed.

"Locke" She hummed into his ear.

"Yes, dear?"

"Will you keep me warm?"

"Come closer" He pulled his arm around her, nuzzling his scruffy face into her smoky hair, and warmly, they both went to sleep.

  
  
  
  



	2. With which to call home

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. They are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**"Absolute Zero"**

  
  


Part Two: With which to call home

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Don't stand shivering upon the bank; plunge in at once, and have it over."

  
  


- Sam Slick

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Ocean Storms**

  
  


In the seas surrounding Nikeah, a storm was brewing. Not just a summer thunder storm or a typical ocean gale, this one was critical. The Inner Sea was churning pure death. All deep purple sky and waves ranging at twenty feet. The skippers and captains knew that this one was bad news. Indeed, it was the worst storm ever recorded in history. An ice storm. 

  
  


Two travellers woke next to each other at an inn in this backwater village. They had wandered there the previous night, drunken and riotous. This morning, the man woke first, the rattling window pain rousing him from sleep. His travel partner and companion lay next to him, her breath gentle on his face. He gazed at her for a moment, so calm. Her features so strikingly pure and breathtakingly beautiful. When she woke, he knew she would assume her stubborn manner again and these features would change. Mould to her will. For the moment though, they were calm and pure, like carved marble. 

  
  


A loud impact noise at the window, and Locke got to his feet and moved toward the pane of glass that held those elements out. 

  
  


A scene of pure illusion, he thought. It must be. This isn't real.

  
  


Outside, a tree had fallen in the middle of the cobblestone street and all manners of debris flew through the air. Then there was the snow. It restricted his sight to the nearby shops and stages. Further than that was a white void.

  
  


Celes, feeling the loss of warmth next to her, stirred from sleep. "Locke . . . are you still here?" She was sleepy-eyed and confused.

  
  


"Yes, Celes. I'm here." He smiled warily toward her. Pressed his hand on the glass. So cold. "You aren't going to believe this."

  
  


"What is it?"

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Trail's End **

  
  
  
  


"Locke, this can't be." Celes had pulled a blanket around herself and dragged her feet to the window, to stand in shock before it. "It's incredible. It's so bleak."

  
  


"Yeah, I'm afraid it is. It's like nothing I've eva seen." He turned to her. "Not eva in my whole life."

  
  


"So it is real."

  
  


"What's that?"

  
  


"The prophecies. The ruin of the world. It's permanent. We did nothing to stop it." She pulled the blankets tight. Her gaze seemed to look through the scene outside, not register it. "We thought we could turn it back, didn't we? With the end of the magic, the Espers, but it didn't work. Don't you see, Locke? It was all for naught."

  
  


"No, Celes. No, dear. . ." He reached for her, pulled her close. She placed her heavy head on his shoulder. She was shaking, and this frightened him. "This won't happen."

  
  


"Yes, it will." She said in a quiver. Her voice grim and cold. "It's happening now, and I was a part of it."

  
  


"No, Celes! Don't say that!"

  
  


"But, I was. Oh Locke, I was."

  
  


"There's nothing about this to blame yourself for! You did everything you could to make it right, Celes, everything."

  
  


"Too little too late, it seems."

  
  


"Dear Celes, there was nothing any of us could do."

  
  


". . . " He could feel her sniffle. The shaking stopped.

  
  


"No reason to blame yourself. No reason at all. We all get taken down roads that we have very little control over, don't we?" She held him tightly, understood exactly what he meant. He too had been the victim of many cruel fates, and they had both seen how the same seemingly horrible turn of events nearly always produced a means of salvation. Another road to take. Her breath slowed, she closed her eyes, and a single tear streamed down her cheek.

  
  


"Then what now?" 

  
  


"You mean, where do we go?"

  
  


"Yes, where then?"

  
  


"I really don't know, dear."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Tsunami**

  
  
  
  


The small town of Thamasa was now nestled on an island in the South Sea. It faced the growling winds like an experienced, if quite small, soldier. It held its defences as best it could. It's best efforts were failing, however, and it was falling apart at the seams.

  
  


Relm, a young girl of thirteen, was pushing her way through the winds, toward her house. Her hair was blowing fiercely in the gale, her bandana having long surrendered to the gusts. Now she was a mess of matted curls and teary, wind-blow eyes. She was struggling, desperate to get to her Grandfather's house.

  
  


Strago couldn't hear the girl from inside. The gale was too strong. He was making his last arrangements in his mind. Collecting his final thoughts. He knew this was the one.

  
  


Relm wasn't as quick to accept fate as her grandfather.

  
  


The thatched roof began to give way, and Strago's beard was now blowing in the tempest too. The fire had been sucked clean out the chimney. He could hear the girl now. She was nearing the door. He sighed, rocked a little in his chair, and closed his eyes.

  
  


The wave could not be measured, but it would later be assumed that it must have been at least fifty feet tall. The tsunami grew out of the angry ice storm and was feeding off the fear of the people of Thamasa. Scared and helpless, they rushed and scurried through town, trying to find a door through which they could escape their fate.

  
  


There was none.

  
  


Relm reached the door, flung it open, just in time for the wave to hit. She was pushed into the house, knocked clean from her feet, by the surging water. She did manage to grab hold of the old man and his chair as the water crashed around them. Submerged, she felt the pain of her leg, hanging lifeless from the impact of the door. She closed her eyes, held fast her breath, her grip. Felt the pressure grow stronger and stronger. Then nothing.

  
  


The wave took everything and everyone away from the island that day. The people from the Greater Continent said it was because of the magic they had possessed. The powers they had contained there. The water came to destroy the curse, the legends say, as their magic was what had caused the world to crumble.

  
  


  
  


**To Wait Out the Storm**

  
  
  
  


Locke sat in front of the fireplace, warming his feet. He sipped at a once-hot coffee, which was now rapidly cooling. He couldn't bring himself to move just yet. The warmth so welcome. Behind him, Celes sat at a desk, busily writing something. He dared not ask her what it was, just yet. He knew she would tell him in good time. She always did. Celes looked up from her letter at Locke. He look pale and dirty, but still perfectly content there by the fire. She realised that she too was in need of a wash.

  
  


"We could still continue to Narshe. I mean, once the storm is over, that is." Locke glanced up at her, over his back.

  
  


"We should, whenever this storm dies down. But I fear it won't do that for some time."

  
  


"Then we bloody better go anyway." He stressed, "Go as soon as we can. It's for the better. It could get worse."

  
  


"I'm writing to Edgar in Figaro, so he knows we are heading that way." Celes tapped her pen on the scroll, dotting her signature with a flourish. "I was thinking we should move soon too. Maybe there is a ship still sailing."

  
  


"Unlikely, my dear." 

  
  


"Then by foot, I guess, it will have to be."

  
  


"Yes, maybe. We could check the dockyard all the same . . ." 

  
  


"Oh make up your bloody mind, will you!" Celes laughed at him. "You're too much." He could be so nonchalant about these things. She tossed a crumpled sheet of paper at him.

  
  


'Hey, hey. Nope of that now!"

  
  


"Get yourself off the floor so we can start getting everything together. We can probably get a hot bath before we leave if we're lively enough."

  
  


Locke sighed, and pulled himself to his feet. Ran his hand through his greasy mess of hair, smiled, and grabbed a towel.

  
  


  
  


**Driftwood**

  
  
  
  


"This is the dockyard?" 

  
  


"I think it used to be."

  
  


"Bloody hell."

  
  


The pier was cracked where it usually met the shore. Several boats lay on their sides or backs on the ground beside them. The rest was flotsam, refuse. It wasn't looking good for a trip to Figaro that day.

  
  


"What happened here? This is unbelievable."Celes picked up a wooden shard that had been ripped clean from the hull of a nearby fishing vessel.

  
  


"Must have been the storm." Locke propped his leg up on an overturned dory.

  
  


"There's nothing left. The storm couldn't have caused this much destruction!"

  
  


"Not all. Look there."

  
  


One small boat chugged toward the demolished dock. On its deck, a rugged looking man made a waving motion toward them.

  
  


  
  


**Houseboat**

  
  
  
  


Artemis Nemo had lived on the sea all his life. His sturdy little vessel, The Morning Glory, had been in his possession since his father died twenty three years earlier. She was a feisty little tub and was one of the only boats to withstand the impact of the tidal wave, which had filtered down to twenty feet after demolishing Thamasa and coursing northwards to Nikeah. Still, the impact had been fierce. Those ships that did survive were nearly all tossed a great distance to sea, obtaining vast amounts of water damage, and most were now at the mercy of the waves. 

  
  


The Morning Glory, however, was lucky enough to have had her captain readily available, for Artemis was a permanent resident on the hardy little houseboat. He had seen the wave, battened down the hatchets (as they say), and rode 'er out (as they also tend to say).

  
  


Surveying the wrecks now, Artemis was in shock. 

  
  


The Star Fish, most prized of all racing schooners, lay upturned and shattered at the hull. He had loved that rig since he was a child. Next to her was Mermaid, and that poor vessel was no better, if not even worse. He couldn't even make out The Ultima or Siren's Call, and the thought of those fine ships lost or buried at sea brought a tear to his eye.

  
  


Still, he was alive. The Morning Glory was still kicking. What more could he ask for?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Safe Passage**

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Now you two cats look in need of a crossing, am I right?" He yelled heartily at the two travellers, young and robust, standing on the tousled shore.

  
  


"You're quite right then, my man!" Locke bellowed back at him, giddy with the good fortune. "And are you offering us such passage, then?"

  
  


"Indeed, I am."

  
  


"That's wonderfully generous of you." Celes smiled.

  
  


"Think nothing of it. You two look like you need to get somewhere, you do." He reached into his pocket for his pipe and began to light it. "I can see that. I've seen many a traveller with your looks about them, and one begins to understand these things."

  
  


"A fine bloke then, you are!"

  
  


"Yes, we really appreciate this."

  
  


"Oh nothing now!" He sucked back on the pipe as the boat nudged against the shore. "Now just get yourselves on deck and we'll be right underway."

  
  


"After you, my dear." 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**High Tides**

  
  
  
  


Locke had spent some time hanging over the starboard side of The Morning Glory, Celes could tell, and she tried to keep her laugher to herself. He gave her a glare, an indignant smirk, then wiped his bloodshot eyes. He went into the cabin's bathroom and turned on the sink. The cold water on his face was nice, made him feel less seasick.

  
  


"No sea legs on you then, I see." Artemis chuckled from his place by the wheel.

  
  


"Bloody better believe it!" Locke coughed. Celes considered asking if he was going to be okay, but remembered his pride and decided against it. He'd survive. She would not patronize him.

"You'll be alright. Here . . . " Artemis produced a flask from his pocket. "Take a swig of this. It'll clear you right up."

  
  


"Thanks, mate." Locke chugged back a mouthful of the dark rancid liquid and nearly choked. It was potent stuff, whatever this bloke was selling. Locke tried to look like he liked it, and took another gulp. He swirled it around his mouth, and swallowed hard.

  
  


"There ya go! How's that?" Locke felt a warming sensation throughout his body, and indeed, he did feel better. 

  
  


"What IS that stuff?"

  
  


"Oh, that's my own special blend. For the sea fever. You like it?"

  
  


"It's bloody brutal."

  
  


"The best kind." The old sea dog grinned. Locke rubbed his chest through the buttons of his shirt, smacked his lips together. Celes was eyeing a map of the Inner Sea on her lap.

  
  


"So Artemis, we should be reaching South Figaro in less than thirty hours, you say?"

  
  


"That's right."

  
  


"What's this swirling pattern below us on the map?" 

  
  


"That's the Flood Tides, they call 'em. Not quite explainable. But after the ruin . . . "

  
  


"They changed their pattern, right?" Locke peered toward the map. "I've heard of 'em. They say that boats get caught out there. Is that right?"

  
  


"So I've heard, Lad, so I've heard. Not about to go check, myself."

  
  


"No, I guess it's better not to even wonder about things like that."

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Figaro, Figaro**

  
  


The young king, Edgar, looked out over the desert. A white dessert. The sickest, most dreadful sight he'd ever saw. His long tawny ponytail flickered in the breeze, delicately dancing with the particles of snow. Danae, the little girl, his cousin's daughter, had called them faery bits. He laughed at her often, but he wasn't laughing now.

  
  


He hadn't laughed at all since the snow began to fall.

  
  


He had, rather, sent out envoys to Narshe, Jidoor, and Albrook, to seek for answers and solutions. He had attempted to secure the public minds of South Figaro, with mixed results. It was a time of mania. Of frenzy. He had been forced to seize several individuals in the caste prison. Individuals who had proved themselves possibly dangerous. There was a great feeling of unrest in Figaro, and he didn't like it. Not at all.

  
  


He held a letter in his left hand, closest to his heart. He has already read it, but was considering running over it several more times before laying it aside. Celes, former General of the Vectorian Army. She had been a harsh adversary, and an even harsher comrade. He smiled to think of her absolute beauty. A dangerous, dangerous beauty. Then Locke, his long-time colleague, whom he hadn't laid eyes on since the tower had crumbled, and they had parted ways. The thought of seeing him again, in all his absurd glory, made Edgar almost feel like laughing. Almost.

  
  


He feared their travels would be difficult. He had already sent an escort to South Figaro to await them there, and that made him feel a little better. A little safer. Then again, South Figaro wasn't what it used to be. His guards patrolled there now, and he had the uneasy feeling that he was now controlling a police-state.

  
  


He turned to walk inside, brushed the white dust from his broad shoulders. Made a mental note to send a messenger out to his brother also.

  
  


Wherever he was right now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Freezing Point**

  
  
  
  


In Narshe, they were struggling.

  
  


The forecasts had proven right and now the world was being slowly buried under a blanket of ice. The scholars struggled with it now, growing increasingly frenzied by the day. They had built quite a school of thought here in Narshe, but it was doing them little good. Piles of books and incredibly expenditure on gadgets and machines, but for what? They had yet to find any kind of answer.

  
  


In the house on the edge of the mountain, Banon lay dying. His long rusty beard flung helpless on the sheets. He had seen the world through many changes, from the rise of the Empire and up to the current crumbling, and he felt tired. Outside the wind howled, and grew more angry by the day. Arvis hung over him like a curse, offering him warm drinks and morsels of food, but he wanted none of it.

  
  


The world is dying, he said. He would die too.

  
  
  
  


**Nightfall**

  
  
  
  


Locke was now asleep, sound and pale. His head lay upon Celes' lap. She wasn't sleeping, or at least it wasn't coming easily, so she simply sat. She looked around the cabin she rested in, and mentally tested the sturdiness of the walls, the security that these planks lent them. She was satisfied that they would make it to South Figaro, at least, in one piece.

  
  


The kind man had stayed in the main cabin, directing The Morning Glory toward their destination. She would be eternally grateful to him, and wondered how to repay him. Somehow she knew he needed no thanking, but she could not understand such people. Or maybe . . .

Celes understood certain things. Her short life had thrown her into many situations that forced her to change her point of view completely. And yes, she did understand that some things needed no explaining. No rewards or pay backs.

  
  


She ran her fingers carefully through Locke's hair, careful not to wake him.

  
  


She wasn't sure where they would eventually arrive. Where they would bring an end to this wandering. This searching. Would they stop, settle down? And how? Where? What would they do now that their carefree travelling has come to an end?

  
  


She knew that they hadn't a home. For her, this feeling was natural. She knew it to be true for him as well, especially now. She traced his face with her hand, cautiously. Could they be each others home? She knew she would not leave him, if it came to that. She wondered then, about him, but knew somehow, that she barely needed to.

  
  


Celes lay back onto the thick pillow and mattress, with Locke curled tightly into her lap, and soundly, she slept. She didn't stir until they reached the dock the next morning.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. 

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. They are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**"Absolute Zero**"

  
  


Part Three: Where to turn?

  
  
  
  
  
  


"If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"

  
  


-Percy Bysshe Shelley

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Reminiscence**

  
  


Walking into South Figaro brought Celes nearly to her knees. Here was the same occupied town that Locke had busted her out of years earlier. Edgar's soldiers patrolled the street, much as Ghestal's had before. Standing there made her want to flee. Want to vomit.

  
  


"What is this, Locke?" She turned to him with wide blue eyes.

  
  


"I don't know." He tentatively reached his hand inside his jacket, to where his daggers rested. "Let's hope this is all under Edgar's watchful eye."

  
  


"Yes, let's." Celes began walking towards the pub, carefully eyeing Owzer's house. She was well aware of the events that took place here during the reign of the Empire. All too aware.

  
  


Inside, they found more tension. The pub was filled, it seemed, with angry people. There was a cautious silence, and things seemed way too calm. Locke strode up to the bartender with his usual brazenness. "Yeah, I'd like to know what exactly is goin' on 'round here." The bartender glared at him, suspiciously. "And a pint as well. And one for my friend here." He added mock-cheerily, to try and keep things cool. Celes felt her stomach churn, and hoped to some god that Locke knew what he was doing.

  
  


The large man behind the counter gave them both the once-over. Locke, he was fairly sure he recognized. One of the King's comrades. The woman was more familiar still, and he pondered it for a moment. Her pallor, her stance. He had seen a woman quite like her before, and she had not been a pleasant woman. Dangerous, even. 

  
  


Then he saw her, all ice and glory, and knew who she was.

  
  


"Anthony," He shouted across the room to a man in the corner, dressed in royal garments. "I think these are your people."

  
  


"Your people?" Locke turned in anticipation of a scene. His hand flew beneath his jacket and paused there. 

  
  


"Settle down." The man, Anthony, stood up. "Edgar has sent me." He bowed, slightly. "You must be Locke." Locke settled at little, heart still racing from the shock. Tracey nodded toward Celes. "Lady Celes."

  
  


"Why has Edgar sent you?" Celes stood tall, eyeing the man, at least a foot short than her. Her stature was intimidating, to the best of men. "What message do you bring?"

  
  


"No message, madame. He sent me to lead you to the castle."

  
  


"The way is not safe, then?" Locke inquired. Tracey nodded slightly, looked around. His eagerness to leave was very apparent.

"Come this way."

  
  


The three drew many glances as they dashed from the pub. The bartender shook his head. Poured their drinks down the drain. Once they had left, a stir of hushed conversation began around the pub once more.

  
  


**Whispers**

  
  
  
  


As they walked through the caves, toward Figaro Castle, each was confronted by their own quiet demons.

  
  


Celes walked softly, already plagued by her thoughts of guilt. The seizing of her veins to ice. She had been even more intensely worried by her memories of these caves now, and Locke and her first meeting here in Figaro. She was being plagued by dreams of Vector. Dreams of a time when she hadn't seen a future, and suddenly realizing. Those were dreams of now. 

  
  


Locke saw only Celes. Her furrowed brow concerned him, and he knew she was feeling some intense pain from these circumstances, of late. As for himself, he had already cried all his tears. As long as he could feel her warmth by her side, he could forsake the rest of the world. Once again, she was all that mattered. He could not lose her, would not lose her. Losing her meant losing himself.

  
  


Anthony had thoughts only for his kingdom, this Figaro. He was worried about the king. Knew somehow that the arrival of these guests would improve his health. For that reason, every creak in the cave walls sent him reeling. Watching for danger at every turn. He would bring them to Edgar. Somehow he knew that this was vitally important.

  
  


Nobody talked as they approached the castle. Celes drew a deep breath upon sight of it; Locke placed his hand at the small of her back, but they said nothing.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**By candlelight**

  
  


Edgar was sitting in his private chamber, when the messenger brought them to him. He had been writing what seemed like the hundredth letter, a message for hope to no end. He had been shrouded by a dark cloud all week, but their entrance immediately lightened his features. Made him cry out in joy.

  
  


"Friends! Welcome! Come right in." He rushed to greet them, ushered Anthony aside. Smiled his warm thanks to him, then strongly, eagerly, embraced them both.

  
  


"Edgar, old chap! You look pale." Locke laughed, and Edgar beamed at him. 

  
  


"No paler than you, my dear friend!" He bellowed. Turning to Celes, he grasped her hands. "Celes. Lovely as ever." (He wisely chose not to say "Paler, as ever.") He kissed her left hand, with a showy display of etiquette.

  
  


"You haven't change one bit, Edgar." She flushed a fierce grin. "Thank the heavens."

  
  


"Now, both of you sit down. Immediately. What would you like? Tea? Ale? Just say the words and I will send for it." Edgar led them to a chair, facing his desk.

  
  


"Something warm to drink would be nice."

  
  


"Yeah. That'd be a great bit, that would."

  
  


"Done."

  
  


They talked for hours, like old friends, and in some ways that's what they were. In some other ways, possibly even stronger ones, they had changed. Grown distant. But that's how it was with these things. Still they retained certain ties now, and nobody ever forgets the feeling of standing together. Fighting for the same cause.

  
  


And now, more than ever, they would be fighting for the very same cause.

  
  
  
  
  
  


** Tears**

  
  
  
  


That night as Celes was moving toward the bathroom, she heard a young girl crying.Not usually the motherly type, she was surprised when she found herself walking into the room where the noise was coming from. The young girl, Danae, looked up, slightly startled.

  
  


"Who's there? Nanna?"

  
  


"No, not Nana." Celes hushed her, awkwardly, unsure of how to treat the frightened little girl. "My name is Celes." The little girl rubbed her puffy eyes.

  
  


"Wow. You look pretty. You're all white, though." She sat up. Her reddish hair was tousled. Celes sat on the edge of her bed, slowly. "Why?"

  
  


"Why am I . . . white?" Celes was more than a little bewildered.

  
  


"All frosty white like the snow!" She widened her dark eyes. Celes rubbed her arm, and looked around the room. She smiled, not to scare the girl.

  
  


"Well, you might not believe it, but I once had that snow, the essence of it, placed into my heart."

  
  


'Oh. Really? Did it hurt?"

  
  


"Yes, it did. A little."

  
  


"But you're okay now, right?"

  
  


"Yes, I am" Celes smiled. I am. The girl rumpled the blankets in her hands, churning a thought for a moment. Celes found she couldn't predict what she would say next.

  
  


"So then you're an ice faery, would you say?"

  
  


"Ummm," Celes considered. Decided for once, to avoid the cold truth, and tell a little (Locke-type) story. "Yeah, just that."

  
  


"Wow. Do you have wings?"

  
  


"No. But maybe I'll get them if I'm a really good faery." Celes smiled at the excited little girl.

  
  


"Boy, I'd like to have wings."

  
  


"If you go back to sleep, I think you just might dream that you have wings."

  
  


"Wow. Really?"

  
  


"It's possible. Let's try it and see, shall we?" 

  
  


**Rumours**

  
  
  
  


Terra received a message, that cold morning. An anonymous note that led her to believe that someone knew that there was more to this snowstorm than could be figured by common folk, like her self. Though Terra, in a reality, was far from common. And she already knew, somehow, that there was more to this white-out than simply snow. It was a wound. A wound of the earth. She was close enough to the earth, from her father's side of the family, to feel these changes it was facing. 

  
  


She didn't recognize the writing, but her memory usually avoided those types of things. For the most part, she didn't understand who would send this letter to her, of all people.

  
  


The letter did contain certain interesting information about the whereabouts of her friends, though. Mentioning Locke and Celes, and trouble in Figaro. Something about the castle of Doma, and then . . . oh. My. Thamasa.

  
  


Terra nearly dropped the letter when she came to that part. She had seen the wave, its offspring waves having hit their shore, but Mobliz had taken no damage. She had picked up some driftwood and flotsam from the shoreline just yesterday, all the pieces lending aid in her building of her fortress here in Mobliz. Every bit counts. But now. She was lining her home with the losses of Thamasa? Lighting her fire with pieces of the magi's houses?

  
  


Terra wept on that cold morning. She stood on the outcrop above Mobliz, in the wind, and cried for hours.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Gossip **

  
  


"So, Locke. Now that there are no ladies present . . . "

  
  


"Oh. This ought to be just wonderful."

  
  


"What's the deal with you and Celes?"

  
  


"What you mean, What's the DEAL? Must we really talk about this?"

  
  


"Still the old Ice Queen then, I take it."

  
  


"Hey, don't call her that, okay?"

  
  


"Why not? I've heard you say that, many a time."

  
  


'Joking, Edgar. Only joking."

  
  


"But then why do you wince in such pain, Locke, when I say it, hmm?"

  
  


"Cos I don't feel like having this conversation, that's all."

  
  


"I'm telling you now. She is feisty, but she's a real gem, that girl. A real catch. You should nab her while you can."

  
  


"Nab her? NAB her? What is she . . . some bloody sack of potatoes, Edgar?"

  
  


"Oh Locke, friend, you never change."

  
  


"Neither do you. For better or worse . . . "

  
  
  
  


******Never Fade Away**

  
  


So, that day in Figaro, the three friends talked business. They talked of pleasures too, of course, but they primarily discussed the matter of the falling snow and what was to be done. About it, and more pressingly, because of it. 

Edgar wasn't looking himself again, and Locke was very worried about the look in his eyes. The fading light there. His friend had always been a witty one, a lively one. A sparring partner. An able man with words and wit. A bright young king with obvious cheer. But now. The fireflies have left his eyes. The lustre in his hair. Gone.

  
  


Nobody mentioned Sabin. Celes noticed this. She wouldn't be the one to do it, either. That was a weight she was incapable of lifting. Surely, Locke. He's your friend. And he's so . . . So pale, you said? You were right. He is pale. But yes, I shouldn't think this way. He's my friend too. And Sabin . . . Missing again. Like before. During the war. Had he withered here, in the palace? Left to roam once more?

  
  


Sabin's presence hung above their heads.

  
  


Edgar told them about his correspondence with Narshe and Jidoor. The pooling of resources to find an answer to these mysterious weather patterns. And no results. The scholars faltered, could not get their feet secure in the snow. And Figaro, under rampant hysteria. Constant outbreaks. 

  
  


"So you see, it's looking quite bleak."

  
  


"We must do something. Surely, something . . . "

  
  


"Will you continue to Narshe? My duties here . . . I couldn't accompany you."

  
  


"We understand, Edgar. We will go on your behalf then."

  
  


"Yes, we're not to let the world go so easily. It won't do . . ."

  
  


"No, Locke. It won't do."

  
  


**The Cloak**

  
  


She eyed the cloak. Sueded, with furs, deep navy. A startlingly beautiful object. She moved around it, here in an old room in the castle. A room which, even to this day, smelled weakly of lavender. A long, graceful coat. Warmth was promised from its tender folds. A heaviness, despite its soft edges. Celes lifted it of its rack, pushed her arms into the sleeves, which fit her perfectly. "Snug," as Locke had said. The deepest blue. Celes viewed herself in the mirror, a picture of royalty.

  
  


Edgar's mother had owned this cloak. He had offered it to her.

  
  


She felt shy at this gift, even slightly ashamed. She often had misjudged Edgar. This present made her feel guilty about that. The dark coat made her features ever paler, purer. Her eyes more blue. She felt like an Imperial General again, somehow, in this cloak. Proud and unwavering. She hadn't been this way since . . . Since Locke had taken her into his little world. She'd known nothing of pride there. But somehow, this had been a comfort. She examined her eyes, searched for any sign there of the hardened General Celes. 

  
  


Nothing. Only clear blue intelligence. Softened by the travels. Made truer and constant.

  
  


She smiled. How to repay Edgar for this? Going in his place to Narshe, was all he asked for. But then, his eyes. She understood about Sabin, then. Maybe. Maybe that could be her gratitude to the young king. She stood there, feeling like a worthy adversary to the cold elements. The cloak giving her power. A frightening ice goddess. A peace-seeking ice faery. Oh, that girl. Danae. The girl had given her some warm feeling that had reminded her of Terra. Celes could not help but smile at the thought of her.

  
  


Locke peered through the open door, quietly, as only Locke could do. He saw Celes smiling at herself in the mirror and was enveloped in a calm warmth. And that cloak she wore. Edgar had offered it, and oh, how she looked in it. 

  
  


Locke pushed through the door, Celes glancing up at him through the mirror. Smiled. He reached her. Wrapped his arms around her from behind. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Wild cats in the grass

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. They are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**"Absolute Zero"**

  
  


**Part Four: Wild cats in the grass**

  
  
  
  


"Blow, blow, thou Winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude."

  
  


- William Shakespeare

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Trail Song**

  
  
  
  


Locke, never one for letting a day start sour, had invented a traveling song.

  
  


"Oh bye and bye, I sees the sky . . . 

A million pennies for a lie . . . 

Of fields an' glens, I sees no end . . .

My faery friend and I."

  
  


Locke spun round to face Celes on the last line, his face all wide and sassy. She groaned, shook her head. Regretted ever telling Locke about her conversation with Danae, which he had obviously found most entertaining. Still, his singing voice wasn't bad, and he wasn't completely mangling this old song of his, reinterpreted into yet another incarnation. He was being ridiculous, but she thought the world of him, all the same. Even when he was silly, something she never really achieved herself. No, she thought, especially when he was silly. Celes tried to keep her smile hidden.

  
  


"Must you? You're butchering a perfectly good song there, Locke. And don't look at me with that cheeky grin!"

  
  


"Oh, don't say, now! You love it!"

  
  


"You think so?"

  
  


"Bloody sure of it! C'mon now, dear, try to hum along, at the very least . . ."

  
  


"You try me, Locke, you . . ." But he had caught her smile emerging, clapped his hands in glee at her, and ceremoniously plucked her off the ground she was standing on. Spun her around.

  
  


"Oh bye and bye, I sees the sky . . .

The perfect place for you and I . . ."

  
  


Locke released Celes, and they continued. The song continued, with Celes even offering a few verses, once she caught his rhyme scheme. The sun passed in and out of the clouds, with a scattering of snow dust falling around them. They moved from desert steppe to grassy plain, all in the general direction of Kohlingen.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Quagmire**

  
  
  
  
  
  


The drop in climate had caused harsh rains on the fields of the Western Continent, along with the snow. The rains brought floods. Some areas sinking into shallow recesses of wetness. The waters towed debris across these fields and it wasn't uncommon now to discover large fallen trees and even parts of houses lying in a traveler's way.

One niche in the vast plain of noh-grasses, was particularly waterlogged. Not quite frozen, but the temperature here was hovering as close to the freezing point as water could stand. The grass was a soppy sponge, seeking to devour unwary visitors. It was here, for several days, that a challenge, of sorts, was being held.

  
  


Travis was the ringleader. The latest rogue produced from the Mackey tribe of Miranda, a family notorious for their feisty youths. Travis Mackey was fierce, and a pack leader to rival any breed of wild dog. His entourage wasn't large, but consisted of the roughest, crudest little pills anyone in that area had ever laid eyes on. The twins, Aaron and Orion, had fled from Zozo, and thus their shady credentials went without saying. Nib, which was apparently not his real name, had only one decent eye and even less in the way of manners, charm, and goodwill. Nobody knew where Travis had found him, or even how they had met and not killed each other on site. Nobody asked either way. Nobody with any sense went anywhere near them, and lately, this meant that they kept off the plains outside Kohlingen.

  
  


These boys were brutal, and as Locke had been known to comment on their sort, "a bunch of quite shoddy blokes."

They had taken to criminal activity, of a kind even unusual for them. The snow was to blame, the villagers howled. The snow would be the end of them all. All these youths gone bad. Everyone turning on each other. And with the miscreants of Zozo forced to flee and roam the decent country, it was as good as declared. 

  
  


Every man for himself.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Ambush**

  
  
  
  


"You there! Ya Slag! Don't move your bones or you're finished!"

  
  


The man, who had inadvertently wandered into this unlucky stretch of the plain, froze in fear. A flash and there, downward, was a knife. In his thigh. "Who's there?" He froze in fear and pain, but unwavering. "Bastards. Show yourself."

  
  


"Now why'd ya have to be so nasty, now? Me mates and I are just having some fun here. Right?"

  
  


A boot to his back and the unfortunate traveler found himself face down in frigid soggy turf. "What's ya got there, maggot? I'll bet this one's full of goods. Looks bloody rich." The man raised his head, face to face with Nib's boot. It was even dirtier and more scratched up than his face. "Posh Jidoor scum, I'll bet." Mind reeling, the man twisted on the ground. So they wanted his money, fair enough. But the knife. His leg twitching with pain.

  
  


They would kill him, that was for certain. But he wasn't about to just die. Not the sunniest of situations, but the choice wasn't exactly his to make. He reached toward his thigh, cautiously, removed the knife. Prepared to jump to his feet. Pushed the dagger into and across the leg of the rogue standing above him.

  
  


After that, things progressed rather quickly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Interference**

  
  
  
  


Locke heard the skirmish before Celes. He was hot-wired for trouble. And this, was definitely his sort of trouble. 

  
  


He had been knee-deep into the fight before Celes could do anything about it, and realized that she would have to assist him. Avoidance was a much preferable tactic in her opinion, but Locke hadn't asked for it. Locke never avoided anything.

  
  


So, they were soon engulfed in the melee. Outnumbered but not outmatched.

  
  


The plains, however, were not an ideal location for any sort of activity, let alone a brawl. The bandits had this in their favour. They lost footing often, and all parties had become drenched to the skin. Limbs numb and losing agility. Freezing losing pacing lunging. Figures flying, parrying. The slumped form of the unfortunate victim lay wet below them, briefly cast aside in favour of these two new wanderers. In their own way, also bandits. 

  
  


It was eye for eye, and two to one.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Welcome stranger**

  
  
  
  


By contrast, in another part of the world, someone was in the right place at the right time. He had wandered for weeks, following the snow. However one follows snow, the results are usually surprising. His surprise was the unlikely fortress of cliffs, earth, and embellished ruins.

  
  


Mobliz.

  
  


He hadn't had a name for it at first, it was unrecognizable from its former self. He would not remember the soft days there of his youth, until the day when someone names this fortress for him. He did realize, on first glance, that this would be his salvation.

  
  


Terra had felt his approach, and in little time, had appeared before him. He marveled at this gentle beauty. Her unusual locks. He bowed a humble greeting, putting her at ease, and instantly becoming the newest member of her ever-growing colony.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Recognition**

  
  
  
  


"So the little bitch can move too, eh?"

  
  


"Some piece of ass too, that one!"

  
  


"Shut it, alright! Bloody crooks."

  
  


"And what you gonna do, ya pansy! I'll gut you right up the . . . "

  
  


"No, you won't. You can deal with me."

  
  


"Oh, the lady is addressing me, aye? I'll deal ya, then, righty-o!"

Locke tensed, ready to intervene, but held back for Celes' dignity. She thrust towards Orion, and the passing was brief. Blood fell from his jaw. She kicked him from his standing, drew back. All in one clean movement. Even Locke was awed. 

  
  


"Whore! Ya bloody slut!" Orion cradled his head, hands dripping blood.

  
  


"You . . . "

  
  


"That Whore!"

  
  


"That whore is General Celes, ya slag! The bloody witch who torched my town." 

  
  


Celes stiffened at this title, but remained, unrelenting. Held a cold hard gaze, held her footing. Her hair plastered to her forehead, dripping wet. Standing there, in her cloak, she did look the part. An unrelenting Imperial General. Her eyes, cold, menacing. 

  
  


"Let's git outta here."

  
  


"Right."

  
  


"Won't be the last, though, deary! I promise ya that! "

  
  


The turned tail and fled, like a pack of red dogs. Celes remained standing, unsure whether to drop her front quite yet. Below her, the man writhed in the muddy filth. Her shoulders dropped. She lowered her eyes, and Locke could see a stream of tears run down her cheek with the rest of the moisture. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Kohlingen skies**

  
  
  
  


The man's name was Barryn, a farmer from Kohlingen. His wife, Anise, was all over the three of them once they stepped through the door. She was flying strands of red curl, and flour-doused aprons. Their home was soft and warm. It smelled like butter and soap. Burning wood.

  
  


Locke reclined on a couch, sopping his forehead with a damp cloth. The cut was not deep, but it had bled quite a bit. He was wearing a tan pair of pants, and matching shirt, much to loose for his liking. Anise had ushered them both out of their wet clothes instantly, and had tossed him some of Barryn's work clothes.

  
  


Celes wore a large fluffy robe, her long legs exposed to her upper thighs. The robe had been the only thing she could reasonable fit into, and that wasn't very well. If Celes had what would be considered a tall, lithe figure, then Anise had the opposite. She sat upright in a billowy chair, gingerly sipping a warm cup of tea. 

  
  


Barryn lay prostrate in his bedroom, above them. He was wounded badly, but going to survive. Anise had informed them, and they believed her. With her in charge, they had no doubt he would recover from any ailment. 

  
  


"Now what are two fine young characters like yourselves doing that brought you here? All the way out here, and in the swamps, no better!"

  
  


"We're trying to make our way to Narshe." Celes spoke over her cup. Locke smiled from his chair, mostly jazzed that he had been referred to as young. Despite all the paths he'd trodden and pains withstood, he still took pride in retaining his carefree demeanor, his youthful character. His experiences certainly hadn't aged his spirit, and he did recognize that people still saw this in his face. And at just over thirty years, he could hardly be considered old by any standard. 

  
  


"Narshe. You don't say? That's one place I can say I certainly don't want to go."

  
  


"We want to see the scholars. About the snow . . . "

  
  


"Oh, very good then. That's something else, altogether. I can get you passage, fair enough."

  
  


"You mean it? Really?" Locke sat up, absently dropping the cloth. "How you say?"

  
  


"There's this man. Devilishly handsome. Much like yourself." She took a pause to smile wryly, curls bouncing. Locke smiled. "He's always about in that great ship of his. Traveling is hard now, but he's still at it. Yes, handsome devil. Not much older than you, I'd reckon. But that hair. Silver like the sky before it pours. My God, I've never seen anything so incredible."

  
  


They locked eyes, shared an incredulous look. 

  
  


It was Setzer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Edgar's letter**

  
  
  
  


In Figaro castle, by light of candle, a letter was being written:

  
  


_I'm not completely sure how I am still functioning after all this, and I can't say that I expect to make it through the Winter. Not to alarm the reader of this note into thinking this is a suicide, though. Locke, you are right, old friend. I'm too vain, too arrogant to die in such a way._

  
  


_ No, the reason I put pen to paper to articulate these thoughts, is that I fear the worst for Figaro and for myself in particular. There has been much whispering among my subjects. Inquiries into my health, into my abilities to lead them. There have been no attempts at disloyalty, but one cannot deny that the climate in this, my kingdom, is a foul one indeed._

  
  


_ I am hoping that this letter will wither and turn brown, alongside myself, into old age. Hopefully, it will remain in its seal and never be opened. All the same, I now write it. Because I am writing this, I cannot say I invest my faith toward believing in this end. These words, then, will articulate my last thoughts and wishes._

  
  


_ Locke, friend, you I speak to first of all. You must . . . _

  
  


The pen continued to write into the deep hours of night.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**A Man of Faith**

  
  


In Mobliz, things were changing.

  
  


The man who had recently arrived, Sebastian, had come to be known there as the parson. Everyone in Mobliz loved him immediately, and often asked him for advice and prayers for good graces. He had once been a fanatic of the magician's tower. Here he spent years in silence, engulfed in complete devotion to the acquiring of the mystical powers of magic. The Esper's ill-gotten curse. Once the temple of sin, built to appease the fury of these creatures, was struck down, he traveled the world to find a true path of devotion. 

  
  


He came to know of the nothingness of the remaining world without these powers. This, he felt, was their punishment for abusing the grace of these great creatures. They had believed they had destroyed them, the Espers, but he began to see differently. As a wandering ascetic the truth was revealed to him.

  
  


The snow was the result of the removal of the blessing of the Espers. They were released from the bondage of this world. Not destroyed though, he somehow knew. No longer contained behind the Sealed Gate, they had taken their true place among the cosmos. From there, they now watched the world crumbling. A punishment for the misuse of their blessings. A punishment for greed and sin. For war.

  
  


The proof was in Thamasa, he told them. That's when he began to know for sure. They had become kin with the Espers and thus one with the cosmos too. To harness the power of these godly creatures, by accepting their role on the earth while the Esper's lay sealed behind the gate. Somehow, these magician's had been avatars of the gods, and shunned by the people who would fear their power, or worse, use it for their gain. They had been removed from the coming apocalypse, not destroyed, just leaving their earthy forms and now removed to be with the Espers in the stars.

No, not destroyed. The mages had been good, sure enough. The Winter, and all its destruction, was meant for the others. The ones who had abused their goodwill. They would be left here in the freezing cold.

  
  


The people of Mobliz loved Sebastian, and eagerly listened to his promises of a salvation from this snowstorm. They believed his words and knew that the good Espers would indeed save them if they were of the right mind and heart. For they had brought Terra to them, and she, Sebastian said, was connected to them in her heart.

  
  


Terra was a daughter of an Esper, and her heart was full of kindness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Warmth**

  
  
  
  


"The cloak is ruined. Soaked right through." Celes fretted in front of the closet.

  
  


"Not ruined, Celes. It will dry, it will do."

  
  


"It's suede, Locke. It's ruined . . . " Her voiced trailed into a whisper.

  
  


"That's not it, is it, dear?" Locke glanced at her withdrawn form, motioned toward the space on the bed beside him. "Come here, now. Celes, please?"

  
  


She stood hanging there listless for a moment and then slowly settled down next to him. She had an empty melancholy about her, and Locke frowned. He wouldn't ask, didn't need to. All these memories, these things falling around them, frozen. He could feel the ice overtaking her spirits again, and reached for her. "Just let it out, now. Alright?" She slumped over his shoulder, and he held her, whispered, "Go ahead and cry if that'll right things. You can be safe here, Celes. It's me."

  
  


She didn't say anything, just shook, quietly. Locke rocked her back and forth, finding that his own breathing matched hers. Felt her heartbeat. Before long, he realized that he was crying too.

  
  


"I'm so cold."

  
  


"No, no love. You're warm. Very warm, now."

  
  


"Locke . . . "

  
  


"Very safe . . . "

  
  


"You. You're so good to me. And what about me? What good . . . "

  
  


"Everything. You know that. Always. For eva and eva."

  
  


Celes stopped crying. She rested her neck close to Locke's, breathed on the nape of his neck for a while. Locke closed his eyes tightly shut, inhaled, held his breath. His hand firmly attached to her back.

  
  


She drew back from him. His eyes slowly opened to meet hers. They were both red. Bloodshot. She smiled. "Thank you . . . Locke . . . " She voiced his name slowly, as if it was the first time she had ever spoken it. Locke sat, frozen, watching her lips form the words slowly. Watched them move toward his own. Closed his eyes again.

  
  


Her lips were, indeed, very warm. 

  
  
  
  



	5. Faith

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. They are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**"Absolute Zero"**

  
  


**Part Five: Faith**

  
  


Where there is hatred, let me sow love. 

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith. 

  
  


- Saint Francis of Assisi

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Fading Out**

  
  
  
  


"I'm running out of patience for that old curmudgeon." Running her hands through her mat of short rusty hair, Alexis entered the kitchen. She slumped, literally crashed, into the wicker chair next to Arvis. "He's got no sense of gratitude."

  
  


"Now dear, " Arvis passed a steaming cup toward his niece, and produced a cloudy smile. "Have a little tolerance. Indulge the man. He's seen so much."

  
  


'Doesn't he realize that we need him, Uncle?"

  
  


"He's done his part. So much is left, I know, I know, but he hasn't the strength, dear."

  
  


"He does have the strength. I know it. That's what bothers me." She took a deep gulp of the scorching liquid; scoffed. "He doesn't want to recover. That's the thing."

  
  


Arvis said nothing, and that, in itself, was a form of acknowledgment. The both sat, silently in the tiny room, faces lit intermittently by two small candles. The candles both bent to face the other, almost questioningly. They flickered and kept burning, as did the two remaining members of the Returners. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Interrogation**

  
  
  
  


Edgar paced through the dungeon of the castle, walking by cell after cell. These bloody rogues, he thought. What is wrong with these people? He thought of Locke for a brief moment, a wave of gratitude, thankfulness that he'd never been the one to throw him behind bars like this, washed over him. And then, that was his friend. What right did he have to throw these criminals behind bars? Out of fear? Edgar suddenly felt very old.

  
  


He eyed one of them, the one they called "The Hawk." Truly, his eyes were like those of a hawk, constantly wide and watching. The Hawk chirped at him as he passed, he almost swore he heard him. This one had killed several people in South Figaro. Not deaths in a riot, but premeditated murder. Edgar could not figure why, and he felt he would rather not know. It was for the courts to determine, anyway. He shuddered at the thought of a bloodthirsty hawk, taking its prey on the innocent. Had his kingdom really come to this?

  
  


He looked a few more of them over, trying to finger the right one. One who would be able to supply the knowledge he needed.

  
  


A dark-skinned fellow, the one they had found several weeks ago. Unusual. A thief, no doubt, but somehow different. He was asleep now, in the corner of the cell. Edgar listened to his muttering of trains and ghosts. He would not know anything, he decided, and kept walking.

  
  


He stopped before the cell where the man named Aillen Garland sat. Aillen was awake, and eyed Edgar cautiously. The youth was tall, lanky, with sandy blond hair. Dark eyes, like emeralds at night. He was quiet, intelligent. Edgar knew this was the one he needed. He passed a hand through his hair, hanging loosely behind him.

  
  


"Good-day, Aillen. How are your accommodations pleasing you?"

  
  


"Well as far as cells in a castle dungeon go . . . "

  
  


"Yes, yes. Not too pleasant at all, I agree. But that is the way things are in this kingdom. We don't deal kindly with criminals, you realize."

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


"The reason I am here is to ask you a favour."

  
  


"What could you possible imagine that I would care to offer? I owe you little, if not nothing at all."

  
  


"You don't have to accept, but I feel it will be beneficial to both of us."

  
  


"Go on then, King Edgar."

  
  


"Your crimes have not been great, and I think we can most likely work things out. Outside the courts, let us say. Would you not prefer this?"

  
  


"Yes, right, I would much prefer that."

  
  


"Let's begin then, shall we?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Once Home**

  
  
  
  


"Here, Celes. That's it, right there."

  
  


"This . . . This is really your grandmother's house?"

  
  


Locke nodded his head, smiled sadly. Celes could see the child that he once was spread across his face. She knew that he had loved the woman dearly, often giddily telling stories about her. Stories she'd told him as a child. Celes, who had no family, had always listened attentively. An almost envious admiration. His spark lit her insides and she felt the warmth of family, however far away.

  
  


"It was her house, alright. I remember we lived here . . . after my mum fell." He stopped, staring at the great cottage. Green, like the leaves of dandelions. Here in the snow, it looked truly organic. A whisper of Spring. He didn't finish the story, and Celes took his hand.

  
  


"It's a lovely house, Locke. Did they build this themselves? "

  
  


"I suppose Pop would have built it, yes, back in the day. Quite a long time ago, then. Nan had the energy for it though, that's for bloody sure. I'd say they planned the layout together, sure enough. It has her mark all over it, like."

  
  


"What did you say her name was?"

  
  


"Lacy."

  
  


"Lacy . . . Lacy Sheeva. That's so interesting."

  
  


"Let's go inside, shall we?

  
  


They walked through the door into the tranquil green cottage, the floor creaking like it had many times before. Celes thought the interior smelt faintly of Locke, smudged into a hollow older smell with time.

  
  
  
  


**String of beads**

  
  


Sebastian had a string, and on it he had placed several beads. Each bead in his collection was made from a different material, a piece of precious stone, rare wood. Each bead, a different colour, signified a different Esper. He added to this necklace as he gathered appropriate beads. As it was at the time, he had collected nearly ten of them.

  
  


The children were dazzled by the materials on this necklace, such rarities they had never seen before. One young girl, Katarin's daughter, had taken a particularly strong interest in them, and wanted to know what they all represented. Sebastian could not turn her away, so on this day they sat near the fire, and he taught her about Espers.

  
  


Minuet, as she was called, was very intrigued. The girl's interest in the things he spoke of was very great, perhaps the greatest of anyone in Mobliz. She was a true lady of spirit, he smiled. Showing her each of the pretty beads on the line.

  
  


"This one is blue lode-stone. It represents the Esper, Shiva, the ice goddess."

  
  


"Ice? Like the snow? Will she make the snow go away, and not kill all our vegetables?"

  
  


"I'm sure that if you ask her, and you are a good, kind girl, she will temper the storms and protect us as best she can."

  
  


"Will the snow stop?"

  
  


"I can't answer that, child. Maybe if we all do our part to help others and keep of the right spirits and mind, we will be spared from the storm. I know it is hard, but I feel this is a test to us as people."

  
  


"Oh, I see." She ran her fingers across the surface of the beads. "Will you show me how to pray to them? How to use the beads, like you do? When you count them, like that? I'd like to know, pretty please!" Her short curls bounced with excitement.

  
  


Sebastian showed her how to work through the necklace of beads, reciting a grace to each Esper as he went along. Minuet watched closely, and memorized this practice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Time**

  
  
  
  
  
  


Inside the small green cottage, they waited for Setzer. Anise had told them he would be in town this evening, and so they waited, passing time until then.

  
  


Locke had lit the fireplace, and after the initial cloud of smoke that choked them out, the cottage warmed nicely. Celes, wandered through the living room, pouring through the objects, and pictures there. There was a surprisingly untouched look about the room. As if the last person there had been Lacy, herself. There was a painting of a woman. Her hair was strawberry, tied at the neck. She had most of Locke's features, with the exception of maybe his nose. Hers shorter, more upturned at the end. She was very beautiful, Celes noticed. That must have been his mother, Simone.

  
  


Locke snuck in from behind her, tackled her hard. They flew across the room unto the thick couch in the corner, toppling it over as they went. They wrestled, poking, tickling, laughing. A cloud of dust fanned across the stream of light entering from above them. Celes gave in, exhausted, and Locke crumpled onto her. Pressed into her from above, a tired ball of sweat and heat. She breathed roughly, taking sharp gulps of air.

  
  


"You're crazy. A crazy, crazy man."

  
  


"Perhaps, dear. But I did get you, now didn't I?"

  
  


"It was a sneak attack."

  
  


"Yes, it was that. I'll give you as much."

  
  


He pressed into her, absorbing the heat of her body. Met her eyes with a devilish smile. His mouth nibbled for hers, and she pressed back at him. They reached for each other, feeling for a warmth. Finding it in each other.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Freezing Point**

  
  
  
  


For whatever reason, the snow held back that evening. 

  
  


A few flakes moved gracefully though the cracks between the buildings of Zozo, and a few scattering particles danced across the gutted corpse of Thamasa. Elsewhere, though, there was pure silence. The air was calm, eery. Something was waiting. Something terrible.

  
  


An island in the North Sea, located off the coast from the mountains where Narshe hid, sat waiting in fear. Small, with a modest range of mountains, it was separate from its brother continents, and vulnerable. The sea, which crept into trembling bays and harbours around this island, had begun to freeze. The green swells hardened a glistening white, spreading outward, like a disease.

  
  


The ice pressed into the land, causing it the creak at the seems with the pressure. Opening in a few small areas, an gaping wound. Under the earth, large worms that devoured things whole, were plunging deeper into the bedrock, seeking refuge. Escape was uncertain, even for them.

  
  


From the air, this looked like a frosting, a decoration, and devastatingly beautiful. A harsh loveliness, that bit with poison if one drew too near. The island, a faint white embryo, growing outward in shards. White gradually overtaking the green, growing larger and stronger. In the silent absence of snow, you could almost hear it grow, consume.

  
  


The North Sea was freezing. There was no question about that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Aillen Garland**

  
  
  
  


"Now, Aillen, I am concerned about the situation in Figaro." Edgar began. They now sat, facing each other in a small room. Aillen was chained at the wrists, securing him to the table. He eyed Edgar through a twisted lock of hair, curtaining his brow. "I have a feeling you may know how the climate there fares. The social climate, that is, of course."

  
  


"Let's be frank, your Highness. Alright? You want to know who's plotting to kill you, or otherwise overthrow the kingdom, right?"

  
  


"Really, now. Aillen, you mustn't jump ahead of me . . . "

  
  


"Am I right, then?"

  
  


"Yes, you are correct. I have feared desertion for some time now. I am not a stupid man. Please, tell me what you know."

"I'm not an authority, alright, so don't hold me to this, right? The truth is, that there IS someone with a vendetta against you, it's just, well, I'm not sure who it is."

  
  


"Is that the truth?"

  
  


"Yes, man. I'm a lot of things, but I'm no liar, right."

  
  


"Hold your tongue."

  
  


They sat, quietly, holding a wedge of silence between them. Time passed like this for a spell, a cold moment's hour. Aillen coughed, and Edgar jumped a little. Aillen didn't even smirk. They remained stoic, unwilling to resign. Finally, Edgar won out.

  
  


"Alright, man, King Edgar. It's like this. I know of at least two blokes that you should be keeping tabs on, right. Like I said, I don't know the specifics, right? But these two will let it out, sure enough, if you are keen to watch unnoticed. The first is a rather seedy . . . "

  
  


Edgar listened patiently, absorbing the gracious information, however disheartening. His own subjects. This is what it had come down to. Aillen was trustworthy, he knew well enough, but he played him for all it was worth, anyway. He was not a stupid man. Once finished, he thanked the slender man, and offered him his freedom. As Aillen moved to leave, he turned to face the king once more, questioningly. Hand on his belt.

  
  


"Your Highness . . . You . . . You know who I am, don't you?"

  
  


"Yes, Mr. Garland. I have gathered as much." 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Minuet's prayer**

  
  
  
  


The girl folded her hands, holding the beads, and prayed from the bottom of her soul.

  
  
  
  


_ Shiva, sweet little ice goddess, please spread your icy wings toward us and hold us safe from the snow. Create for us, please, a shelter from this terrible storm._

  
  


_ Please Shiva, ice faery, I hold your lodestone. It is so cold and blue. So pretty like you must be. Will you answer my prayer, will you protect my friends and family?_

  
  


_ The snow, is it a punishment? I know you wouldn't punish us, would you? Shiva, I don't want to be cold. Please spare us, your good devoted friends. _

  
  


_ Please Shiva, no more snow . . . _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**High skies**

  
  
  
  


Setzer arrived in Kohlingen, as the sun was setting. 

  
  


Anise had informed him of his friend's arrival and directed him to where he would most likely find them. He approached the cottage, which stood lazily like a limp blade of grass. He knocked, tentatively, then immediately proceeded inside. Impatience aside, he was very much looking forward to this reunion.

  
  


Inside, he found them, fast asleep on the couch. Celes, angelic as ever. Radiant, even in slumber. Locke curled around Celes' back, like a dog. Yes, rather like a thin wild dog. Setzer chuckled heartily, and they began to stir.

  
  


"Looking forward to seeing me then! Asleep, I say. You flatter me, you really do!"

  
  


"Setzer, old man! You do that well enough yourself."

  
  


"Old, nothing. I take it you have been well then, Locke?"

  
  


"As always, friend."

  
  


"Celes, you are as stunning as ever. Even more so, I believe." He reached for her hand and clasped it between his own calloused paws, encased in rings.

  
  


"Oh Setzer! Must you . . . "

  
  


"Of course I must. I don't let radiant beauty just sit there, unnoticed. You haven't changed." He smirked, flicked a strand of pure silver over his shoulder, and chuckled again.

  
  


"It's very good to see you again."

  
  


"Yeah, it's rather odd. A stroke of luck, that."

  
  


"Not so much luck, Locke, though my relationship with Chance is as good as ever. (Laughs) No, but really. I have been keeping an eye on the two of you. In my ship in the sky, my baby, The Falcon."

  
  


"You've been trailing us, then?"

  
  


"Something like that."

  
  


Setzer admitted that he had been keeping tabs on them, as well as others they had once known, since the snow had begun to fall. He had not interfered with them, for obvious reasons (that Locke could not grasp as quite that obvious). He shared the tales of happiness and sorrow with them, and they felt a pang of loneliness. He also informed them that he had also been traveling quite often to Narshe, and believed that they would find a visit there most interesting indeed.

  
  


The next morning, the three took flight for Narshe.

  
  



	6. A return of sorts

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. They are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**"Absolute Zero"**

  
  


**Part Six: A return of sorts**

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Necessity is the mother of invention."

- Latin proverb

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Miles High**

  
  
  
  


Many things could be said of the man called Setzer Gabianni, and not all good, by any means, but there was no denying his flight expertise. He owned the skies. A little snow wasn't about to hinder his fun, not in the least. Flying was what he lived for now, and well, that was another thing about Setzer. He always got what he wanted.

  
  


His long silver hair was whipping the sky. He stood tall, brood, in a dashing (and expensive) long black cloak. He chuckled into the breeze. "Well, then. Have you ever felt such utterly frigid and blissful air? It makes you nearly crumple down in despair! Have you ever felt so much despair in all your life?"

  
  


"Once or twice, I have. Not that I care to elaborate, much."

  
  


"Ha! That's what I like about you, Locke." Setzer smiled, sucked his teeth. "You've got secrets. People are boring once you know all their secrets."

  
  


Celes moved behind them, sighed, shook her head. Missing Setzer was somewhat like missing a solid gold tooth that had begun aching slightly, yet remained flawlessly dazzling. Now, his presence surrounded them like a whirlwind. Quite a breath of fresh air.

  
  


Locke paced eagerly around the deck, tossing himself from surface to surface, leaning over the rails. His chains, keys, beads, all fluttering in the breeze. He smiled, as much to himself as anyone, and let out a shout into the skies. His hair, hastily tied in a bandana, matted in the breeze.

  
  


"That's the ticket, friend. It's all about freedom. All about excess! We are the freest things on this whole damn planet!"

  
  


Below them they could make out the form of Narshe, hidden in the cracks of the Great Northern Mountains. Curled up, and hiding, like a cat expecting a litter of kittens. That's the place, thought Celes. The place this whole mess really started. The place they would hopefully find a means of ending it. Celes tipped, adjusted her footing, firmly planting her dark boots into the polished deck surface. Her stomach dipped. They were descending.

  
  


Setzer descended with the same enthusiasm with which he approached everything, and so they approached quite rapidly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**The Blizzard begins**

  
  
  
  


Not much can be said about what happened next, except that it was the true beginning of the storm.

  
  


Swirling outward from above the island of the hoovers, the winds gained intensity. The snow increased, blotting out any memory of a horizon. It was white. A sick and complete whiteness. These winds moved out and engulfed most of the world, and shifting occasionally to reach those areas it had missed. Nothing was spared. Blankets of white were coming down, and citizens the world over tucked themselves in for a long Winter.

  
  


Those who had no shelter, died. It was that simple.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**In the Shadows**

  
  
  
  


Anthony crouched hidden in an alleyway, behind a large basin-shaped pile of snow. He pulled his fur collar more tightly around his neck, attempting to keep the freezing glitter out. The snow was everywhere. All consuming. He was doubtful he would be able to see anything on this sentry mission, but at least he could hear well enough over the winds that day. The walls of Figaro sheltering the gale.

  
  


Edgar's commands had been very clear. He was to watch outside the Owzer residence, keeping careful notes of what he sees and hears there. He did not, would not, tell Anthony why, but it was clear by the look on his face that it was very important. Vitally important. Anthony had resolved to do this job properly, as always.

  
  


Wearing a fur parka, and common work clothes, he would not be recognized easily as one of Edgar's men. And with this snow, well, it was nearly impossible to see anything. That aided his job considerably.

  
  


Hours passed, Anthony heard nothing. Saw even less.

  
  


On the outskirts of town, a tall man with tawny hair spoke to another man. He detailed the whereabouts of a passage into Figaro castle, which he had, himself, escaped from. The man, a greyed older citizen of Figaro, eyed the thin man with some suspicion, but chose to believe him. How else would he have gotten out of the dungeons, after all. He thanked him, and handed him a purse which contained a substantial amount of money. The elderly man pulled his hood tighter around his head, watched the youth disappear into the snow, and turned back toward town.

  
  


Aillen Garland fled South Figaro with his pockets blessedly full.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Arrival**

  
  


In the house of Arvis Truro, set deep into the cliffs of Narshe, there was a knock on the door.

  
  


"I'll answer it, Uncle. You stay with Banon." Alexis had no complaints against leaving the old man's side. She was fidgety and needed air. Banon was sucking every last breath of life out of that place. Approaching the door, she ran a hand through her tangled auburn strands, knotting them atop her head. Setzer had thrust himself inside before the door was half open.

  
  


"Darling, good to see you! I take it that Arvis is here, is he not?"

  
  


"Yes. He is here, Setzer. In the back room." And he had been immediately, before she could blink, approaching the back room. Alexis shook her head. She eyed the two newcomers, strangely familiar, especially the man. What about him? Was it his eyes? His nose? She twisted a stray tendril around her finger, shared a crooked smile. "Hi, I haven't met you yet, have I?"

  
  


"Celes Chere. And no, I don't believe we have met."

  
  


"Pleased to meet you, then. And you, sir? Surely we have met somewhere before?"

  
  


"Doubtful, that is. I'm sure I'd have remembered you. Locke Cole."

  
  


"I'm Alexis Freewind. I'm Arvis' niece. I believe you've met him, then?"

  
  


"Yes, I was a Returner. Arvis was a good friend back then."

  
  


"Oh, now I see. Locke, Celes, come on in and sit down. Arvis will be very excited that you're here. He's spoken of you before."

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Fireplace**

  
  
  
  


They sat around the fireplace, and Arvis entered the room with Setzer close behind. "Can I get you anything to drink? We have some tea on the stove right now. It's fresh."

  
  


"Tea's luvly."

  
  


"I'll have some too, please."

  
  


"I'd rather a glass of red wine, Arvis, if you have any."

  
  


"I think there's some in the cellar, Setzer. I'll run out and check." Alexis was up and moving before he could say thank you, which he probably wouldn't have bothered with anyway. The four of them now faced each other before the fire and began to talk.

  
  


It came as a surprise to Locke and Celes that the organization known as the Returners was still in a semi-functioning state. Arvis told them that he and his niece had been seeking resources to aid the research at the academy in Narshe. There, they hoped, would come an answer to the approaching ice age, and they were working to make it a reality.

  
  


"So, this is to be an ice age, then? Permanently . . . "

  
  


"Yes, Locke. That's the high and low of it."

  
  


In the mines of Narshe, they had been searching the ice for traces of Esper. The excavation had been somewhat successful, as well. They'd recovered several small samples, which the scientists had been attempting to draw information from. Seeking to replicate the make-up of these creatures, to acquire knowledge of them and their effects.

  
  


They had been unsuccessful so far in their experimentation, but the technology they are working with was improving. Funds from Figaro, along with several of Edgar's latest machines, had helped them greatly.

  
  


They had also planned to help the general public, travel to towns, share their knowledge with the common citizens. Increase awareness of the dangers facing the planet now with this age of ice. They would do all they could to help those in need, while seeking to discover an antidote to the freezing poison.

  
  


All they needed now was help.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Gone astray**

  
  
  
  


In Figaro, Edgar walked the grounds of his castle, seeking to make sure it was secure. He stopped in one corner of the dungeons, an eyed a passage there. He had left it open, been informed that someone would try to enter the castle through this very tunnel. Rather than deter them, Edgar felt it would be more advantageous to open it clearly, set a guard down here. Wait in his chamber, for a fly to enter his web.

  
  


The letter had been left with the guards. He knew who had written it. A sign of good faith.

  
  


Edgar credited himself with being wise beyond his years, and this was true in many ways. Not a scholar, no, by any means. He navigated intelligent conversation with wit and charm, but his true intellect was in his intuition. Edgar had come to know certain things instinctively while he ruled his kingdom at such a young age. He could see through any mask. Tell a wolf just by looking it in the eyes.

  
  


Returning to his room, he eyed himself in the mirror, appalled at the gaunt face that looked back at him. He had always been an attractive man, and charming no doubt, but where had the bounce in his hair gone? His eyes were like two unpolished gems, set in a ragged cliff-face.

  
  


Oh, his eyes. He could see through them and into his brother's very same eyes. Where was he? No response from his letters, he probably hadn't even received them. His brother had always been so free, the antithesis of everything that was Edgar. Especially now. He only hoped that his brother was still the same. Still safe. Still wandering free. Still smelling the same flowers.

  
  


But no, the flowers were all gone now. And what of Sabin, then?

  
  


Edgar turned from the hateful mirror. Decided that he would need a shave and a bath if he was to confront his enemies anytime in the near future.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Failing Hopes**

  
  
  
  


Minuet was crying, a flood of broken dreams. Nothing anyone could say to her had made the tears stop. She couldn't, wouldn't, accept the fate they had been given. The little girl curled on her bunk, wrapped in a woven throw. She shook, dripped warm tears. Would never believe in anything again, she said.

  
  


Terra had attempted to comfort the child, her calm words usually helped to silence sorrows, but it wasn't working. She stood outside the door to this bedroom, and watched, waiting to be invited in. Willing to attempt to sooth the girl, once more, if only given the chance.

  
  


"Minuet, it will be okay. I promise."

  
  


"No, Terra. The snow's not stopping. Shiva doesn't love us, does she?"

  
  


"I know you feel that way, but a little faith never hurt anyone."

  
  


"But it's not working. Nothing works."

  
  


"We will be safe. I promise. Have faith."

  
  


"And if there is no Espers?"

  
  


"Oh Minuet, I know they will watch us. Of course there are Espers. Anyway, I'll be here, regardless. I'll keep us safe."

  
  


"Promise?"

  
  


"Yes. I promise."

  
  


The girl slept then, but somewhere in her heart a change had been made. She trusted in Terra very much, but Terra was a human. Had become a human, at least. The girl was too young to have any recollection of her previous Esper form. And now, she did not know if she believed in anything more than that.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Covetousness**

  
  
  
  


Warm in the home of Arvis, the friends rested, and wandered at will. Finally getting him alone, Setzer felt it necessary to congratulate Locke on achieving an envious status. 

  
  


"Locke, you're a very lucky man, you realize."

  
  


"How's that now?"

  
  


"Why, Celes, the radiant goddess that she is, obviously! Don't be daft, friend. I'm not blind here."

  
  


"Oh, well, no, obviously not. Is it quite that blatant, then?"

  
  


"Blatant? Oh, friend, yes. I can practically smell the . . . "

  
  


"Setzer! That's bloody enough, alright. God . . . "

  
  


"You know, for a crook, you're pretty sensitive."

  
  


"I'm not a bloody crook, alright! I'm actually a treasure . . . "

  
  


"Oh whatever, Locke. Same shit, different pile."

  
  
  
  
  
  


**In the Mines**

  
  


Alexis had heard something. Earlier, on her trip to the cellar, something had been off. Her ears were trained to detect the slightest irregularity in the mines of Narshe. There was someone in there now, she could tell. While the others lolled and conversed about the house, she had snuck out, unnoticed.

  
  


Now she was carefully plotting her course through the mines, foot after foot, not to make a noise. There was a deep echo with every motion, and she could here something still. Someone was definitely in there with her. Placing a gloved hand on the glass wall of ice, she paused before the room where the recent excavation was taking place. The exact location that they had discovered the Esper, Tritoch, many years ago.

  
  


It was dark. She dared not light a torch. The walls would glow, effervescent, and give away her location. A small stream of light travelled down from a mineshaft above, enough for her to faintly make out a figure across the room. She stopped breathing, slowed the breaths to a crawl, made her heart quiet as well. They, the villagers, the Returners, hadn't called her a mouse for nothing. 

  
  


The figure bent to touch the gap in the ice, seeming to reach with a determination, a knowledge. This person, this man, had been here before, it seemed. Knew what he had come for. Alexis grinded her teeth, poised herself.

  
  


She leapt towards him, wielding a wooden staff, her weapon of choice. The man turned, surprised at his assailant, and drew a long blade. Their weapons met, and the sword took a deep bite into the staff. They held. Alexis slid downward, took him off his feet, but the man rolled gracefully and came at her once more with his blade.

  
  


The blade tasted her arm. Barely, but still, a substantial wound.

  
  


The man, whom she could now see more clearly, wore a dark cloak and light armour. His face was shrouded, indeterminable. A man of swords though, she knew, and quite dangerous. He had an object in his hand, and she could see that it was a brightly coloured feather. A feather from the Tritoch. No, he could not! This was just the sort of object that they had been looking for. She had to get it from him, no matter what the cost.

  
  


Before she could even voice a threat, move an inch, he was gone. Seemingly, he had vanished into thin air. Whoever this was, he was trained in an old science of combat and sword techniques. He was dangerous, and had stolen a vital artifact. But what did he want with a fragment of the Tritoch? For what purpose? They, the scholars, hadn't even found a use for it yet.

  
  


Alexis dragged herself home, leaving a narrow path of blood droplets behind. A trail of defeat.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Man of Science**

  
  


"A feather from the Tritoch? That is incredible." The elderly man scratched his greyed beard. He regarded Arvis with concern. "It was stolen, you say? By whom?"

  
  


"An unidentified assailant. He attacked Alexis as she tried to stop him." He motioned towards the silent woman beside him, who cradled her bandaged arm like a sick child.

  
  


"Very dangerous, girl. You should have told the others, gotten help."

  
  


"There was no time, scholar. And I didn't think myself outmatched."

  
  


"Yes, scholar. Alexis is good at what she does. She would not act impulsively, with so much at stake. There is no need to reprimand her that way."

  
  


"Oh, insolent youth. There is no shame in being cautious. Even you, Arvis, I swear. So impetuous, the lot of you." He eyed the others. "And you, newcomers. More of the same, I suppose. You look of Arvis' sort."

  
  


"No, well, I guess there's no arguing that." Locke shrugged. Had no other reaction for this domineering old man. He glanced at Celes, who seemed less amused.

  
  


"Is this where you research the samples, then? And muse about the snow?" She regarded the old man with interest.

  
  


"Yes, my dear. This is where we congregate and try to solve all the worlds problems." he let out a gruff, old-man laugh. "A simple enough task, don't you think?" They all smiled at this.

  
  


"This is quite incredible. I'm glad to being able to see all this."

  
  


"Yes, a great bit, that. We'd be glad to be of any sort of help we can offer."

  
  


"Good." He eyed Locke, in an odd wonderment. "Not to sound like a broken record, but we'll need it."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Long awaited rest**

  
  
  
  


Banon called them to his side that night. He was dying, at last, he said. The old man smiled with an indecipherable happiness. A bewildering calm. He seemed to be looking through the walls and into somewhere far away.

  
  


Lying there, his unruly red hair aflame, he had asked for Alexis.

  
  


"Leave the girl with me, all of you. I have something to say, and only to her."

  
  


Alexis was at a loss, a cold junction in the road of reasoning. The old man, the stuffy curmudgeon, wanted her to stay? He would deliver his final words to her? She looked pleadingly at Arvis, who only shrugged. They all moved into the living room, silently waiting for a sign when they were finished. Alexis faced Banon, lowered her brow.

  
  


"I don't get you, at all. You've lost your mind, old man."

  
  


"Oh shut it, granddaughter." 

  
  


Alexis lost her breath, felt as if she had been punched in the stomach, hard. Regarded the old man with disbelief. "You have. You've lost your mind, haven't you?"

  
  


"No, girl. Saucy, wretched girl! With that mouth of yours, and that blasted rusty mop of hair, how could you have possibly been anyone else's granddaughter but mine?"

  
  


"What's your meaning, then? What do you mean by telling me this now!"

  
  


"So you know."

  
  


"So I know. What good does that do us? What difference does it make, Banon?"

  
  


"Listen, Alexis. It's not like you have to love me, or anything like it, so don't lose it. I just want you to be aware of your heritage."

  
  


"My heritage? And what about it?"

  
  


"Well, I have been gifted, as you know, with certain powers and talents. Talents which can also become yours, if you mind to listen to me know."

  
  


"Go on then."

  
  


"Well, before all that, I'd like to say one more thing."

  
  


"And that would be?"

  
  


"God-awful girl, don't be so saucy! Oh, mercy help us all, but I want . . . (Coughs) I want for you to become to head of this operation. To lead the Returners."

  
  


Alexis dropped her cup on the floor, and the warm liquid floated slowly, lazily, across the surface.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. White Death

White Death

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters, except maybe the ones which I have invented. Those that I haven't are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.****

**"Absolute Zero"**

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**Part Seven: White Death**

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"The leaves fall before the tree dies."

-French Proverb

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**Requiem**

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Banon, the former leader of the organization known as the Returners, which was active in the former world of Balance, died that night in Narshe, the town which he had been born in.

Outside the storm, the Winter, raged on. He could not have foreseen this storm, in his youth, or else he would have done everything in him power to prevent it.

He had done his part, however, and a good part it had been. He smiled in death, knowing he had set something that had been good into motion. He had done his part.

His role in this world was long over now, and he cared not to face this new struggle, whatever part he may have shared in its inception. No, this was not to be his fight. He was old. He could not go on.

So as the snows gained strength, Banon gave up his.

The next morning, then, the Returners, as they were called once more, grieved for their former leader. Welcomed his successor. Faced their new challenges, without the grace of his guidance.

  


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**Mountain Winds**

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The mountains above Narshe stood tall and angry, facing the storm. It was barely visible through the white death which flew around the faces of Locke and Celes. Standing there, arms wrapped around for heat, they were awed. Being here made everything more vital, more urgent. They drew closer to the sick reality that was the snowstorm, and it did not welcome them.

For Locke, the burial of Banon had been like a dream. A flashback to some other life, one which he had grown accustomed to not living anymore. Now, this death, and the circumstances they found themselves in, brought it all back to him as if a distinct memory had come to life once more. He had been thrust back into the shoes of the man he had once been, as a Returner. He did, however, have a choice in the matter this time, in one way. In another way, a way that was essential to his character, he did not.

For Celes, it was more of a nightmare, returning to this setting, this time in her memory. Watching Banon die was a strange and foreign experience. For most of her memories, he had not been an ally, but an enemy. She had never known Banon. Only known his cause, and by that time it had outgrown even him.

Locke rubbed her shoulders, warming her with his gloves. He cooed in her ear, "What say we head back now? It's ruddy freezing up here."

"Soon. I haven't taken enough in, yet. I want to remember what these cliffs looked like the first time I walked through them."

"They haven't changed, love. They're just hiding, that's all. Like all memories do. It's only quite fitting, really."

"You're right, Locke. Even if I could see them, it wouldn't be the same, would it?"

"Nothing is eva the same."

"No, not ever . . . But some things do get better. Many things get better . . . "

"That's for certain, dear." He held her tightly, warming his cheek on her neck. "How's about a little snog, then?" He kissed her neck, and gingerly worked toward her mouth. They kissed, surrounded by whiteness. For a moment, barely noticing the snow.

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**Lydia and Lenore**

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Two girls worked in the Narshe academy, both barely twenty, and thus a contrast to most of the elders which congregated there. They were, in fact, the very same age. Not identical, but similar to look at, though there was quite a distinct contrast in personality. Lydia, the more lively of the two, spoke quickly, with an assured urgence. Her long black hair, worn loose, was silky smooth straight. Lenore, her twin, had hair of the same colour, the deepest chocolate black, but hers was cut to her shoulders and curly. Spirals everywhere, like coiled springs waiting to jump. And unlike her excited hair, she was calm, wispy. She spoke in paused anticipation, though still projecting quite a bit of enjoyment in every word she shared. Which weren't that many.

When Locke had asked to go speak with the scholars about the snow, Arvis had sent him to them.

Lenore smiled coyly when he entered the room, motioning to her sister to look up from her weather chart. Lydia rushed to greet him, shook his hand with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Lydia Crane. You must be here to discuss the snow. They told us you two had arrived though I hadn't quite known what to expect. Celes, that's her name, right? She's quite impressive to look at. I mean, she doesn't look like anyone I've ever seen. Oh, excuse my rudeness. I must say, welcome, come in. Get comfortable. This is my sister, Lenore."

"Coffee?" Lenore softly held out a cup to Locke, tentatively. 

"Sure, coffee's luvly. I will do with a cup. Nice spot you have here too. I must say, I wasn't expecting . . . "

"Women? Yes, I know, all these old grizzly bears. A big boy's club is all it is. But no, we're here for good reason. We're the heart and soul of this weather operation now. Makes them all swallow their feet every day, but what can you do, right? That doesn't intimidate you, does it? That we're women?"

"Lydia . . . "

"No, not at all, that's not it at all. Nothing like it, really. It's just . . . You're twins, then?"

"Yes, that's right." Lenore smiled. Locke was bewildered, amazed. These two were simply incredible and they hadn't even begun to talk about the Winter yet. Taking his coffee firmly in his hands, he settled in for what was sure to be an interesting exchange.

They didn't disappoint, either. Lydia bubbled over for hours, spilling out at the seams with knowledge, and when she boiled over, Lenore would slowly glide in and settle things. Provide a temper to her blade. Knowledge was power, and so was balance, and these girls had it firmly in their grasp. Locke sat, intrigued, eager to learn all they could teach him.

  


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**A reluctant leader**

Alexis was, for once, at a loss for words. Unlike her to flee from any task, but then again, this one had been thrust on her by that old coot Banon, of all people. Being her grandfather did not make him anything special to her, especially considering that he had known it all this time, yet kept it hidden from her. Yes, he was quite an unruly character, and not even any of her concern anymore. This fact made her feel frustrated more than anything. His selfishness. Even his death was a sort of betrayal to her, and to the Returners.

One could not change their destiny though, could they? Alexis knew this to be true. They could fight and scream into the winds, but come up with much the same result. Birthright was the toughest of all to shake. A residue that clung to your skin. Followed your every endeavor. 

She was to be leader of the Returners.

She had already voiced her concern to Arvis of the illegitimacy of Banon's decision. She had taken him aside after the burial proceedings, but Arvis had reassured her rather than agreed with her. Supported her. That was not a surprise, but she felt Arvis was the far better choice. Had his wits about him, but not servant to his furies. Yes, a much better choice. She told him, reluctantly promised him, that she would ease into the role. She would try, for his sake.

In her meager bedroom, no more than a closet really, she struggled to settle her head. Caught in a stasis before there would be any useful movement. A strand of copper hair fell into her eyes, and once unsuccessful in poking it away, she reached for her scissors. A few snips and her vision was perfect. She could now clearly see what needed to be done.

As a first measure of her new duty and position, she opened her stationary, and began to write. She was to send a letter to Figaro, asking King Edgar for his support. Reaffirming an old allegiance. A tie that ran deeper than monetary donation and a few discarded machines. She wanted his support in the truest sense of the word. His alliance had been a crutch of theirs in the past, and it would serve them well in the future too.

She, for one, had a sense for tradition. 

**Gambling**

  


In the kitchen, Setzer entertained Celes with a round of poker. Straight poker, the kind that he was ever so adept at himself. If it had been any other lady, he would have most likely suggested strip poker, in jest, but with Celes it would have to be straight. Definitely straight, or else nothing.

The kitchen was warm and they were both having a pleasant time, leaving the residue of the burial behind. Setzer did not have much time for dwelling on things, only looking forward. The card game worked as a great diversion. Celes was laughing, Setzer was glad to see. Mostly at him, no doubt, but he didn't care as long as he could see her lovely face in that smile of hers. Not the real smile though, of course. That was for Locke, and Locke alone. 

"You win again, Celes. Quite impressive, dear. Lovely. You are a real natural."

"You're letting me win, aren't you Setzer? There's no way . . . "

"Celes, I'm outraged that you would even think it! No, you've just a natural talent for it, like everything else. Is there anything you cannot do, dear? I mean, really!"

"Oh, you . . . " Celes laughed and shook her head. Setzer was letting her win, most definitely. Where was the fun in that? But perhaps, he did know what he was doing. Celes, in general, did enjoy winning, and something about Setzer . . . He always knew, somehow. He could read people, like cards, she supposed. Either way, winning or not, it was a great distraction for the moment. She glared at him. "Just shuffle the deck, okay? And this time, no pity."

"Now, Celes. Pity, really? I mean, if there is anything I wouldn't do to you, pity is certainly it." Celes rolled her eyes. Setzer chuckled heartily. 

"Just deal!" She flicked a card or two at him and sat back in her chair, stiff as a board. Setzer began dealing the cards. Celes absently watched the smoke billowing up from the stove, heard the kettle bubbling toward a boil. It reached its peak, finally, and Celes turned to remove it from the flame. There, behind here, was Alexis.

"Oh!" She was startled. Hadn't heard her enter, not even slightly. "When did you come into the room? I must have been really out of it. I should have heard something . . . "

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Celes' face fell, regarded the petite woman in wonder, which Alexis mistook for some sort of disgust. Alexis poured the steaming tea into a cup, eyed Celes. "Would you like some?" She would attempt to be friendly at least. By this point, she must not have been making a very good impression at all, she figured.

Celes' face warmed considerably. "Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you." A relief to see that this woman regarded her in an amiable manner. She had been feeling strange vibes from her so far, like a territorial animal. Perhaps just the scurrying about had caused it, the sullen face that morning during the proceedings. Either way, it was a relief for both of them when they finally spoke to each other in this manner.

  


Setzer rumbled behind her, "I'll take one too, Alexis, love. If it's not too much trouble."

"But you'd ask even if it was, wouldn't you?" They all laughed at this. She handed the mugs around and then took a deep, scorching gulp of tea. "May I join you two? Play a round?"

"Certainly." 

**Exit**

It was around this time that Terra left Mobliz. They pleaded for her to stay, but the pull was too just great. She had to go, she told them. She had been called to leave there, and head southward. Something was going to occur, or perhaps, needed her attendance. Sebastian nodded quietly, knowing the importance of the effects of Terra's goodwill on others. The children cried, Duane grumbled, and Katarin pleaded with her, fervently. 

"Terra, this is madness. It's basically suicide to go out into this. You musn't!"

And Terra, a girl who had not left the area surrounding Mobliz since Kefka was overthrown, did not even listen to her. I'm leaving, she said. It was not open to question. They would have to wait it out, and simply have faith in her.

Minuet watched her wrapping herself in many layers of cloth and fur. She didn't speak to Terra, but watched her in disbelief. Was this to be a test of faith? Could she let Terra go, when she knew that she would not come back? There was nothing to protect her out there, and with Terra gone, who would protect them? Minuet pleaded with Terra, but Terra smiled, and shook her head.

No, she was going. No use crying. She would come back, soon enough.

And so, in the raging snow, the height of the blizzard, she left. 

Allegiance 

"So, I know that Setzer is in, aren't you? Yes, of course. You've been in for quite some time. But Celes, what of you two? You and that Locke fellow, will you stay and help us? I hate to ask, but . . . " Alexis pursed her lips. Need to work on your delivery of speeches, girl, she thought in frustration with herself.

  


"I've certainly given it some thought."

"Yes, that's good. I really am hoping you will stay. We do need your help, greatly. And what of Locke, then?

"Well, he's at the academy right now, isn't he?" She grinned, sighed. Somewhere inside, she knew that Locke had already made up his mind.

"Yes, he is. With the twins." She began to laugh deeply, red strands bouncing. "They'll convert him, for sure."

"Twins?" Celes was perplexed.

"Oh yes, twins indeed." Setzer chuckled, eyes aglow."They're quite the pair. Sweet girls. Quite the lookers . . . "

"Oh Setzer, really. Aren't they all?" Alexis drawled. Celes couldn't help but let her laughter betray her too. Alexis had Setzer figured out, all right. And she didn't mind telling him so.

"Oh . . . Oh! Ouch. That's really unfair of you both. Really."

Through the laughter, a faraway look slowly overtook Alexis' face. She seemed to be listening to something very far away. Setzer shot a puzzled glance. Celes regarded her with concern.

"Listen, guys. Great game of cards, but I have to go. Something . . . Is not right."

"Not right?" Celes held her arms with her hands, frowned. "How can you tell?" Alexis struck her as someone who "just knew." She felt things, Celes could see in her eyes. 

"There's something I forgot to do. Suddenly, something makes a lot of sense."

She turned, and left. Setzer shrugged and rolled his eyes. Picked up the cards, and dealt them.

**The present**

Alexis dropped into her hiding place from the mineshaft above, she wound not be detected this time. She waited, impatiently, for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

There, a shadow. A man's silhouette. 

  


She tensed her muscles, cradled her bandaged arm, and didn't make a sound. Was it the same man that had attacked her the previous night? The form was barely recognizable in the dim light. Could anyone be so careless as to return to the scene of their crime so soon? Perhaps he thought that she would assume it pointless to come up here tonight. Yes, he thought she had let her guard down. Foolish.

He jumped, turned around. Impossible, her mind yelled. He couldn't have heard her, she remained still as the ice she touched. Perhaps he had felt her body shiver, the shudders in the air registering with him. But that was impossible. He was good, then. Very perceptive. She decided it was time to move, no sense drawing this out.

She leapt, swinging her staff full force, quick as a dragonfly. He dodged, nimbly. Drew a large dirk. He was thin, and his figure came into focus in the dim light.

"Aillen?"

"Alexis. Yes, it's me, right. I thought I heard something . . . " They both relaxed and lowered their weapons.

"What are you doing here? You know it's not a good idea."

"Don't start. I don't need a lecture."

"And why are you in here, in the mines? Did you have anything to do with that . . . "

"Now what you think?" Even in the dark, she knew he was giving her "the look".

"Okay, I trust you. I hope so. But it doesn't look good. You just disappeared, and here you are suddenly, in the mines, of all places! Think about it, Aillen."

"Oh, Alex. I can explain all of this, right. Everything."

"Not now. Don't take complete leave of your senses."

"But . . . "

"You have to get out of here. Before anyone finds out. You know what will happen."

"Okay, right, fair enough. Just take this." He held out his clenched palm. She nodded, closed her eyes. Even in the dark, they understood.

"Okay. Go, though. Go now."

  


Aillen brushed by her, placing an object in her hand. He left quickly, without a trace, and Alexis stood there, stunned a moment. She dropped to her knees, pressed her hand to her forehead, heard. Opened her hand and cautiously looked at what he had placed there. 

It was a moogle charm: a small white whistle.

_Go. Find Mog._

**Hell winds**

Terra faced the onslaught of the storm. Fierce icy death and powerful gusts of hatred. Her feet carried her over the snow, slowly. Gliding at an unbearably slow pace. The skin on her face was numb and turning pure white. White, she thought, as white as snow.

Growing dark now, she was faced with the storm at night. Temperatures dropped, and her furs pulled more tightly around her. The blackness, no light, and this vast whiteness. Aching whiteness. How could the sky be both white and black at once? Terra was engulfed in this violent contradiction. A maze of firefly glitter in a dark empty vortex.

She trudged onward. Unsure of where she was going, but knowing that she must get there. The voyage must be made, regardless of the cost. A way would be presented to her. All she had to do was look and listen.

_Close to the earth,_

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_On my father's side of the family . . . _

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Night raged on.Terra was alone for the first time in as long as she could remember.


	8. The Freeze

Disclaimer: These are not my characters

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters, except maybe those which I have invented. Those that I haven't are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.****

**"Absolute Zero"**

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**Part Eight: The Freeze**

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**"A sad tale's best for winter."**

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**-Shakespeare**

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**Contemplation**

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Celes sneezed, and Locke spun toward her in concern. She rubbed her nose; glanced at him in mild frustration, as if to say, "Don't look at me like that. I'm not made of porcelain." She whispered to him, "Dust, love. Just dust." He slid his arm around her back, leaned toward her, sinking them both into the depths of the upholstery of the couch.

Around them, the living room was filled with people. The sneeze was barely noticed otherwise, in all the commotion. Lydia and Lenore had dropped in to visit, after they had explained certain things to Locke, and were now discussing issues with Arvis and the others. The fire crackled with the winds coming down the chimney, and the room was a riot of conversation and clinking tea-cups.

Arvis seemed increasingly mellow and tired after the death of Banon. He spoke in calm clear tones.

"So, this remnant. This feather that was lost, it would have been important in your research, no?"

"Oh Gods, yes! That would have been something, certainly. Something to work with. We've been looking at some fragments of flesh, Lenore and I, but that's insignificant, really. It's nearly impossible to acquire data like that from such a small source, with the technology we're using. But the feather. Now that's a relic we could surely use."

  


"Can anything be done?"

"Perhaps we will chance upon another." Lenore's eyes betrayed the fact that she feared they would not.

"I have a way."

The room grew silent and all eyes shot towards Alexis. She was standing now. Her compact body looking quite fiery. "This." She held the small white whistle between her fingers. A small flute, which could produce a shrill, nearly in-audible tone.

"A moogle charm? Where on earth . . . "

"Doesn't really matter, I suppose. But it may be our best shot at getting the relic back."

"You mean to use it?"

"Of course."

"But aren't the moogles . . . "

"We'll see now, won't we?"

** **

**Ivory**

Terra regarded the air with a blind indifference. To her left, as to her right, was nothing but whiteness. It bit her, caused her to falter. She moved now, with instinct only.

The ice tore her skin.

In Mobliz, Sebastian held a bead of pure ivory. He rolled it between his fingers.

_Seraphim. _

_Spread wings of protection over Terra. _

_Please move her with your gentle powers._

The bead glistened. Casting a dull milky haze upon the man's face.

Terra's face felt warm. Numb. Her eyes rolled into her skull, then set themselves upon a soft glow emitting from the sky.

_Guide her in her journey, please._

Terra fell to the ground, engulfed in warmth, unable to feel her limbs anymore. For a moment she felt as if she was floating in a clear white space. Weightless. Opening her eyes, she faced a warm ray of white light. It looked her over deeply. Her lips moved.

"You want to kill us for what we've done, but revenge is the same as the initial violence. It solves nothing."

Silence.

Then only howling winds. She could see that her legs were now moving, though slowly, and the feeling returned. Her eyes could see only far enough ahead to guide her. It continued this way until she perceived, ahead of her, a town.

**Moogle Charm**

Alexis approached the edge of the cliff, facing the snow. She knew better than to go any closer than she stood, as she feared she would underestimate the distance. She paused, listening to the wind. Waiting for a break in the storm where the gale lowered to almost a breeze. She stood there, her boots deep in snow, for quite some time, but then . . .There it was. A break in the storm. There always was one.

She put the whistle to her lips, and blew with a force from the bottom of her lungs. Not too shrill, or too deep, the pitch of the whistle glided like honey throughout the valley. Bouncing off the snow, flake-to-flake, and diving to the greatest depths of the canyon. It engulfed everything; a moogle song that flew like fire.

If Mog was out here anywhere, he would hear it. If, indeed, he was still alive.

Alexis stood there, playing this tune, until she could no longer feel her legs. She would not give this up until she was sure he would not come. Mog had been, after all, a favourite companion of hers as a child. Even up until a few years ago, she went to him when she wanted to avoid Arvis or get away from the rest of the commotion of Narshe. She missed him, but by now, had grow accustomed to the absence. 

Then. A piece of white that moved. A small pink antenna.

"Mog!" She dropped the whistle and embraced him tightly (picking up the whistle afterwards). The stocky little creature laughed, his whiskers twitching.

"Kupo, Alexis! You scared little ol' me, you did, but you sure can play that whistle. It was a sing-song like no other. Now then, what's all your worryin' about?"

"Oh Mog, you . . . You're such a gem."

"Ku-uopo! Spit it out, lady!"

"Okay, yes. We need your help. It's urgent."

"Nothing new there. Kupo-kupoo! So spill. Lay it on me, Romeo!

And so Mog returned to Narshe with Alexis.

**Remnants of Albrook**

  


When Terra entered the pub, she was regarded with much indifference. She was pale and weather worn, but that wasn't anything that would separate her from any of the other patrons of the bar. They cared, certainly, but nobody wandering around town had much concern for anyone else's business. It was an unspoken, "Don't ask, don't tell," policy. For this reason, her arrival went uncelebrated but not completely unnoticed.

  


A lame girl in the corner sat sipping a thick ale, and she noticed Terra's entry. She looked up with bleary eyes that had seen better days, but were still quite sharp, even through the blur of alcohol.She sat up a little, shifting her weight awkwardly. She straightened her ragged clothes, and watched the green haired lady carefully.

  


Terra approached the bar, and nodded weakly to the lady behind it. Her face was now flushed blood red in all areas but the centers of her cheeks, where the skin was pure white. The lady, a tall thick woman, threw a warm mug down in front of her, and nodded, chewing her tobacco.

"You ought to get that face checked out in the hospice, girl." Terra lowered her eyes, accepted the mug, and nodded quietly. The lady grunted, "That ain't good for you, girl. Looks bad." She snorted, and went about her business as usual.

Terra retreated from the bar, settling unto a table. 

The girl watched her, quietly.

From her bag, Terra pulled out a small bag of coins and regarded them. A frown slowly fell across her face when she realized that their were not many inside the bag, barely enough for a decent room in the inn. She sipped her drink, and lay her head back onto the seat. A sad sorry time this was. And no purpose yet in sight.

She was jolted back to consciousness by the sound of wood clinking down on the floorboards. There before her stood a young woman, leaning on a pathetic excuse for a crutch.

"I can find you a place to stay for the night, if you want it. It won't cost you anything, either, except maybe enough money to buy me another drink."

"Well," Terra smiled, a unsure but grateful expression. "And how is that possible?"

"You'll find I've grown quite resourceful, Terra."

Mog 

Mog was chatting, eagerly. A choreographed explanation.

"So yeah, that's right! I can't say I saw the thief, exactly, no offence Locke!"

"None taken, my friend."

"Right. But I think I know of the suspiciousness, rightly so, that you refer to."

"Can you be somewhat clearer, possibly?" Arvis didn't get Mog-speak, try as he might.

"Kupo, kupo, kupo!" Moogle fury.

"Oh, Mog. Calm down. He's just being an asshole. Isn't that RIGHT, Arvis!" Alexis glared at her uncle, furious that he could be so daft as to toy with a moogle's sense of pride. Didn't he see how important his information could be?

Celes reached toward Mog, placed her hand on his furry shoulder. "Have you seen any sign of movement in the mountains, Mog? Anything that seemed suspicious?" Mog rumbled in delight.

"Rub me. Kuuupooo."

And so it went for quite some time. Mog baiting and deferring their conversation until they were nearly through with him. Then, as he could sometimes be, he turned completely serious. Settled down, and gave them a straightforward account of activity in the cliffs just East of Narshe. The area where they had once faced Ghestal's army under Kefka's command. Where once they had fought an Esper. Yes, the Tritoch. They had nearly forgotten this.

The area swelled with a deep danger, Mog said. A quiet source of pure evil.

**To the Mountains**

They followed the path of the moogle, Mog, through these mountains.

The path, once familiar, sent a cacophony of worries through their minds. Each bend bringing back old pains, and prides, and now new fears. A strange voice filled their minds, a pang of icy terror. It entered their heads and leapt out again, hidden in the gusts of the storm.

This, it spoke to each of them:

Setzer: _Better turn back now, silver, or your Luck will betray you. You go too far with your own whims to safely fall back into the arms of good Fortune._

_ _

Alexis:_ You can't be serious. Considering yourself a leader here. Why girl, the last time you climbed this cliff, you fell and bruised your knee. A child. Only a child. You have a long way to go yet before you can enter here unscathed. _

_ _

Celes:_ You were right, you are flawed. You're cold girl. You want to freeze to death?_

_ _

Locke:_ You want me to believe that you aren't afraid? That the idea of this fight for survival doesn't terrify you? Terrify you that you'll lose something, someone, else? Why don't you just run away? Run, like you've run so many times before._

_ _

Mog:_ Die moogle! You are going to die, like you should have long ago. Kupo-po!_

_ _

Aillen:_ They don't know you are here yet, but I do. You can't hide. You're not going to live forever by your wits. You are as afraid as anyone. Hiding in dark corners._

And they didn't know that their nagging consciences could be so very right. They didn't think it possible that the storm would threaten them so much. But here, they began to here the falling of the grace of the world. Piece by frozen piece.

**Attack**

Edgar lit three candles in his bedchamber. One for his mother, one for his father, and one for Sabin. The last was harder to light, the wick doubting itself many times. He persevered, and finally it danced with the other two candles, sharing a slow meandering waltz.

Edgar stood, his robes dragging along the floor, and walked toward the wind. Glass, and sealed tightly, as were all openings in his castle now. An impenetrable fortress, if such a thing existed, and Edgar doubted that very much. He stood and watched the snow toss itself violently into the window, trying to find a way into his castle. The winds roared against the castle walls, hungrily.

Edgar's shadow flickered on the wall in front of him, lit by the light of the three candles. They shone at different angles, each shaping his silhouette in different ways, reflecting an aspect of him. His family. They were here with him, even though they really were not. He was amazed at how different he looked, cast across the wall in this way. His shadow flickered in time with the slow dance of the candles.

Another form appeared in the corner of the wall, and Edgar saw it immediately. It was his attacker. He had been waiting for this, despite the many guards posted in the dungeons of the castle. In the end the only person that can protect you is yourself, and Edgar knew this to be true.

He reached downward and picked up his chainsaw.

  


White cliffs 

At the top, nothing but whiteness.

They could barely hear each other shouting back and forth to each other over the winds, and visibility was impossible. Their eyes stung themselves closed. They moved as though blind, feeling their paths, fearing the moment the ground would drop out and they would fall.

"What are we here to prove?" Alexis screamed headlong into the wind, but nobody heard her. She held her bandaged arm up to the gusts, straining herself with the force required to shield her eyes.

Could she see? See anything, anything at all. Did she make out a form . . . Aillen?

Celes stepped forward, feeling the snow crush beneath her feet. "So this is what I'm all about? So this is ice, the power of ice . . . " She struggled to remain upright, her willowy body hurled wayward by the storm. She felt into the whiteness for a familiar touch of flesh, but Locke's form could not be reached by her, could not be found in the void of the storm.

They all began to feel as though the storm was swirling around them. The force of the gale emanating from the very place they stood.

**Survival**

Edgar sat in his throne room, eyeing the walls. Portraits of kings before him lined the polished stone. They eyed him in what seemed to be contempt, or was that pity?

Anthony entered the room, offered him the pipe he had requested. He took notice of the oddness of this request, but said nothing. It was not his place to question the king, especially in lieu of the recent events in the castle.

He had rushed into the King's chamber only minutes before. Blood. The chainsaw dangling from Edgar's arm. Those empty blue eyes. "A pipe," he had said, flatly. "I need a pipe." And now two servants mopped the chamber from ceiling to floor, filling buckets with sopping crimson water.

Edgar sat deep in the throne of his father, inhaling deeply. His father had been known to smoke a pipe when he was faced with a trying situation, such as the one Edgar now found himself to be in. Hell, he could have used a lot more than a lungful of smoke.

Edgar sucked back deeply, and pondered. Hoping his noisy mind would eventually let him sleep. 

Snow Sickness 

Celes felt a sharp pain in her chest. The winds slowed and she stood in a patch of calm for a moment. A brief instant in the eye of the storm. She imagined that she saw a warm glow, a soft milky light. It twinkled and laughed at her.

_Time. There is so little time left._

Locke spun around in the snow, pacing like a caged animal. He felt a consuming sense of worry. Reaching. Where? To grasp on. To what? He cried out, "Celes!" And louder, screaming. "CELES!" Words lost to snow. He gazed upon a white light, and shuddered. His legs gave out from under him.

The others could also perceive a light emitting from the center of the storm. It swirled and flashed and was then gone. They struggled to action, forcing limbs, but none was attained.

_Too late now. You had your chance._

_ _

__Celes felt her mouth scream, and watched herself absorb the shards of light as they burst from the core of this ice swell. She held her arms, numb with frost. No feeling.

Several of them heard her, and could not ever forget after that day the sound of her screams of terror. So unlike her, so full of the sense of raw fear.

One saw her. Aillen. Stumbling briefly into the center of the storm. 

Her eyes witnessed a loss of vision. She watched the liquid inside them slowly freeze, particles of ice crept alone her retina like a spiders web. She felt her legs shatter inside, then give way, limp from pain. She was mildly aware, as she glazed over, that she was cushioned in the arms of someone. Someone had caught her. But now, she was leaving. Her eyes searched for the face of the one she loved. The only one who could save her.

"Locke . . . " Her words a whisper. "Kiss me. I'm . . . I think . . . " Then nothing.

Aillen felt his heart snap and pressed his lips unto hers. At least, then, she would think she had been safely in her lover's arms. Pain jolted through him as his lips were bruised with ice, cracked, frozen and purple. He yelped in pain, and Celes dropped slowly frozen unto the icy ground.

Then silence. 

Temperatures reached their lowest that day. The snow, now tired, stopped falling.


	9. To Reflect

Disclaimer: These are not my characters, except maybe those which I have invented

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters, except maybe those which I have invented. Those that I haven't are the sole propertyof Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.****

**"Absolute Zero"**

** **

**Part Nine: To Reflect**

** **

** **

** **

"There's a bit of magic in everything,

and some loss to even things out."

-Lou Reed,

Magic and Loss

** **

** **

** **

**Silence**

** **

****_Celes, my love, it's finally happened then. You've been overtaken by your dark worries. Foolish of me, maybe then, to have thought you would stay with me foreva, like that. I haven't discovered a way of making people stay yet, have I? But, I always keep my promises, eh? Don't I?I can't recall. But, do not despair then, love. I will not abandon you. That I won't do. Not eva._

_ _

_This time I won't do with the loss, Celes. Couldn't . . . _

_ _

_Celes, I know you're in there, love. Know it. Can't seem to find a way to seep inside your mind and rest there. Or to open your icy lids. Not yet. But I will find someway. I will do. I will . . . _

_ _

_Celes, if you don't wake up, love . . . _

_ _

_You must wake up._

_ _

_Celes . . . _

_ _

_Celes, my heart is breaking._

_ _

_Breaking right in half._

_ _

_This time for good._

_ _

_Celes._

_ _

_Celes . . ._

_ _

_Celes, I love you. Please don't leave me._

** **

** **

Cold 

** **

** **

Now, during these days the snow had ceased to fall. The air was tight and cut coldly, deeply. The snow had piled up over the plains, left a crusty layer over the oceans, now mostly frozen. The sky was white. Motionless. The snow, though purely white, lay dull and milky.

It was not so treacherous to travel for a time, though much colder. If properly shielded, a traveler could now move with at least a degree of clear vision. Most remained too afraid, unsure that the snows would hold back for long. Afraid.

Not so for two brave women. They traveled northward. One helping the other, who required a crutch to walk.

It was also to their benefit that the inner sea could now be used to walk across. They made use of this fact, though cautiously. The sea held other dangers. The occasional breaking of ice floes, the opening of the hungry mouth of the ocean. The hungry mouths of the creatures lurking therein. They traveled, despite this, and in good time they had reached Mobliz.

Stasis 

It is here that the story stops, nearly.

"Celes Chere, former Imperial General." Lenore wrote on her clipboard, onto the record, which would be kept for the illness that this woman now possessed. "The patient shows signs of a ice poisoning. A slowing of the heartbeat. She now rests in a coma-like state." A coma-like state. Lenore put the clipboard down and looked out the window at the silky pale sky. The woman, Celes, is perhaps the first to experience the true wrath of the Snow, she sighed. What else would they be forced to endure?

Celes hadn't moved for days. She was shut tightly to the world, lying pale on her bed. Locke hadn't left her side or otherwise spoken to anybody in days. He held her icy hand and looked on in a sort of glazed vigil. His lips sometimes moved, but no audible words came out.

Setzer walked into the room one morning, unusually silent to accommodate Locke, and placed a gramophone next to them on a dresser table. Arvis had suggested that a little music in the room may keep them both from slipping away, and the silence from otherwise stripping the paint from the walls. Setzer was always in favour of lifting a downcast mood, and since nobody knew quite what to say just yet…

The first few notes slipped out in a croak, then once adjusted, the soft music filled the room. Locke moved, shuddered once, and his eyes glanced toward Setzer. Setzer looked away quickly, and left the room. Locke pressed his face back unto Celes' neck, and quietly began to hum along to the song.

Celes, inside, could hear it, he knew. Indeed, she could hear him. She was in there somewhere.

The soft crooning of a man's voice and fragments of piano spun from the needle of the gramophone:

" you're the magic that holds the sky up from the ground

you're the breath that blows these cool winds 'round

trading places with an angel now

saw you last night

stars in your eyes

smiled in my room"

Locke took Celes' hand once more, still frighteningly cold. He held it, and began to cry all over again. The wave of sorrow on a spring tide.

_Celes stood in the middle of a room, with icy walls and clear glass tiles. The music spun around her and she was wearing a pure white dress. She reached out her hand and Locke's clasped it. They danced, spun 'round the room, engulfed in the sweetly sad music. _

_ _

If anyone were looking, which they weren't, they would not have recognized Locke at that moment. The sight would have nearly broken their hearts.

_ _

** **

**Welcome**

** **

** **

****"Terra, I'm so happy to see you have come back to us safely!"

"Momma!"

"Terra…"

"Tewa!"

"Yes, Katarin. Children. It's good to be home."

"And I see that you have brought someone with you…"

"Yes, this is Relm. She once helped us to defeat Kefka. She's… She was in Albrook and she helped me to find a place to stay there."

"She's been badly wounded… Was that the storm?"

"No."

"Then… "

"My leg was broken in a fight. You don't want to see what happened to the other guy."

"…"

"Oh, Relm. We'll explain later, okay, Katarin. Where is Sebastian?"

"He's inside with Duane and the other children. Let's get you two inside and warmed, shall we? You must be frozen solid by now."

"Yes."

** **

** **

** **

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**Shadows**

** **

** **

****Aillen spoke to Alexis, and to anyone who just happened to be listening, the manner of his voice was a familiar one, though he they never let on to any such recognition in public. He sat on a stool in her tiny room, his legs casually slung on the edge of her bed. He fingered the bruise on his lips, absently. The wound was still tingling, and slightly cold to the touch.

"You wouldn't have believe the sight of it, right. It was incredible. Incredibly disturbing. And that's saying a lot, right… "

"Coming from you. Yes, I know Aillen."

"I've never seen anyone quite so terrified."

"No, I don't suppose you would have… "

"She froze, like, Alex! I could see it coming right over her like a wave. Like a bloody curse."

Alexis paced and ran her head across her brow. She had words to say, but none came out right.

"The worst was the last thing she said. When I caught her, there. She… She thought I was that Cole fellow. She thought I was Locke. And so she… gods, it was too much."

"I wouldn't blame her with the snows as they were, and then… "

Aillen sighs, looks up at her. 

"You look… "

"Yes, I know." 

Alex fretted some more, then sat next to Aillen and put her thumb to his lips, ran it across the purple spot. "This bruise is incredible. Did that happen on the mountain, when she mistook you for him?"

"Yes."

"Your kiss was not the one she wanted, then."

"No, not hardly, but it wasn't that. She was cold. Freezing, like. I felt that she nearly pulled my warmth from me."

"And now he sits downstairs, cradling her, shivering."

"Yes, he would be. That Cole… well, he… oh, never mind. They have truly found each other, as people do sometimes."

"Oh, stop trying to be so wise, you ass. You're not all that, Aillen!"

He grinned, "And you are, what, the leader of the Returners, now? That's a good one!" He jabbed her in the ribs, playfully. "Stepped right into the old coot's shoes, you did. Size 25 and a half, was it?"

"Oh, eat me."

"With pleasure, my dear."

** **

** **

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**Searching**

** **

** **

****Nobody was surprised when Setzer left. More surprised that he had hung around there for the week as it was, pacing, trying to pretend that the scene in Celes' chamber was not happening. They weren't surprised that he went to find help, either. That went without saying. Most at the academy were skeptical of Setzer's approach to problem solving, however. Academics never did understand the mind of a jet-setting free spirit.

If it was possible to buy a cure, he would. If not, then he would find it.

Setzer, as previously stated, was never left to want for anything he craved. As self-indulgent as he was, he was never an uncharitable man. And desires were one thing, friends another entirely. One of the surprising facts among the many things that could be said for Setzer was that he was loyal. Deep down, he was extremely loyal.

Celes. He thought of her much now. His thoughts being quite different from the views of the stuffy academics, which viewed her with scientific marvel. They were different than those of Arvis and the others, he knew, as one could not truly feel for someone they had never really known. Not that Setzer had truly known her, he sighed. No, that burden was now for Locke to bear. He was the one that Setzer now felt the most for; despite the shaky path his feelings towards the man had traveled since he'd first met him. Locke. Ever the bright-eyed, wise-faced thief. Setzer had learned to like him, despite himself, to even respect him in certain ways. And now…

Setzer could no longer stand to watch Locke wither away.

He was going to find help. Find a cure, an answer of some sort. He was going to Mobliz. He was going to get Terra.

** **

** **

** **

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**Miracles**

** **

** **

_I still cannot believe that Relm is alive! I had thought that… I thought that all of Thamasa was lost. It's a miracle. And she… she has changed so. Well, maybe not essentially. She's grown… a young woman now. I didn't recognize her at first. And she's… quieter? No, she as mouthy as ever, but something has softened… Yes, I guess it would have to have hit her hard. That sort of thing. It either hardens you forever or breaks you down slowly. Or else just carries itself softy in the deepest cracks of your features. It shows in the creases of her eyes._

_ _

_That stupid Sebastian character. All holy, high-and-mighty, preaching on his soapbox. What a sod. Oh, listen to me! He was nice enough, I suppose. It's his faith, so who am I to… Girl, you have to lose that aggression. Remember when Grandpa used to say that? Strago… The only thing that makes it okay is the fact that he smiled at me. He smiled, even then. I never could understand that old man. Maybe that's what I can't get through in Sebastian: The Strago complex. Ugh. His Esper theory is dead wrong in one part though. Why would they kill the Mages? To "bring them to the heavens," like he said? Well, makes sense in just one way… They didn't take me. _

_ _

_Truly a miracle that this mage-girl has been spared. Certainly, the Espers have seen in her some great purpose, for which she is here to fulfill. Terra went out into the heart of the storm and this girl showed her to safety… along with the protective help of the Seraphim. And she brought the girl, Relm, back. It must be the will of the Espers. Their will be ours._

** **

** **

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**Terra**

** **

** **

Terra agreed to go with Setzer without hesitation. Relm and Sebastian decided that they would also accompany her, for their own reasons. Within the hour, the four of them soared into Narshe valley in the Falcon.

Terra greeted cheerfully by Arvis, the first showing of sincere happiness from him since Banon had died. Alexis and Aillen greeted the newcomers, and in turn Relm and Sebastian introduced themselves. It was, all in all, a formal affair. Nobody in Narshe quite knew what Setzer intended these people to do, but Arvis seemed to take Terra's arrival as a good sign, and so the others did too. 

Terra wanted to see Locke, so they pointed her in the right direction. Arvis offered a weak warning, but trusted that seeing Terra would do him good. The others were offered a place to relax in Arvis' house, and would worry about seeing poor Celes later. Setzer hoped that Terra would be able to shake Locke from his gloom, and tried to put it from his mind for the time being. 

****

** **

**Speech**

** **

** **

Elsewhere, at this time, Edgar addressed the people of South Figaro. 

** **

****"Citizens of Figaro. It seems that, of late, there have been rumors of desertion among the people of my kingdom. I am here to inform you that I am very aware of this, and have acquired the identity of the majority of the people responsible." 

There are mutterings among the crowd, nervous whispers. Edgar smiles, "How am I aware of this, you ask? Well, someone was nice enough to deliver this to my door…" Edgar glanced at Anthony, who reaches into his pack at holds up the mangled piece of the coat that Edgar's assailant had been wearing. The crowd roared in shock.

"Yes, it is obviously a garment of the Owzer family colours. One Damon Owzer, to be exact. Deceased, unfortunately. I am not a cruel man, and I will therefore spare you the details, but let this go as a warning to any others who may have had a part in this. I will not sit quietly while attempts are made to overthrow my kingdom. The other suspects, fear not, will be now dealt with accordingly."

The crowd is abuzz, but for the first time in ages, they seem to be responding to Edgar with encouraging approval. 

"I know that this Snow Storm has been causing much hysteria here in Figaro, as it is elsewhere. I am here today to reassure you that you will all be secure under my reign. My kingdom is as safe as anywhere else on this planet at the moment, and perhaps better than most. But I will need your cooperation to elevate our kingdom to a higher level of peace and security. If you listen to what I now say, I know we will pull through this Ice Age mostly unscathed."

And so Edgar begins his reclaiming of his family's kingdom. The crowd is silent now, and drinks in his every word.

** **

** **

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**Comfort**

** **

** **

****"Locke?" Terra stood in the doorway. Locke had, by this time, briefly left Celes' side and was picking through his meager belongings in a smaller room. He looked up to see Terra, and it anticipation of a smile, he grimaced and the tears leapt down his face.

"Oh, Locke." Terra went to his side and held him by the shoulders. He let his head rest on her shoulder for a while, soaking it with tears. Terra did not know what to say anymore. She had come to him with a comfort speech in mind, but this seemed ridiculous now there with Locke sobbing on her shoulder. 

Locke. What could she possibly say? He had helped her so much when they first met. So selfless, so...

So they said nothing.

Eventually, Locke pulled himself up off her shoulder. Terra could see from his eyes that his hurt was wearing away at him. A quickly fraying piece of rope. He looked at her, noticed her worry, and smiled a moment, brushed her cheek. Then offered the ridiculous phrase: "I need some air…Going to the pub…"

Terra frowned and watched him leave.

** **

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**Strength**

** **

** **

Relm had left Arvis' place in search of Locke. She hobbled into Narshe's best pub, without any care toward the eyes that glanced at her suspiciously. She settled into the seat across from Locke. After they had silently acknowledged each other a while, she spoke to him frankly.

** **

****"Locke. You are the one I have wanted to see all this time. If anyone can tell me how to keep going, it is you."

"How you suppose that?" He offered weakly.

"Oh, you're kidding me! You don't give yourself enough credit, but that's part of your charm, I suppose. You keep going, Locke. You lose everything. Everything but your own life, and yet you keep going. How do you do it? Where do you find your strength?"

"Well… What else would I do?"

Relm said, "Die," but the words only echoed through her mind. Locke never heard them. He shuffled weakly around in his chair, and drank deep gulps from his glass of cider. He observed her with increasingly bleary eyes. She was an unusual girl, he knew. She seemed to understand things that he only acted on.

Relm picked up her glass, nearly peaking, and downed it. Locke could not help but awe at this, and began to worry for the young woman. She had came to him for advice and he felt that he had nothing to offer. Why did he continue, as she said, once he had lost so much?

_Hope._

_Love._

_Love, it was love._

Yes, Love. But Locke could not bring himself to say this, for it seemed as though some heavy glue had welded his mouth shut. Relm saw his eyes go frosty and din. So, Love then, Locke? She chuckled, downed another glass of cider in three deep gulps. That could not help her. How could it? Now, with all the mages gone.

Still, Relm felt a butterfly of excitement dance across her chest as she gazed at Locke. It was in him. Even now, as he was barely functioning, trudging aimlessly ahead. It was in him. She would learn it from him.

Yes, what else was there?

** **

** **

** **

** **

**Change**

** **

** **

****"It is time for a change," Terra said. "Are we just going to simply roll over, accept defeat? Are we going to cower here beneath the mountains?" 

"It is time for a change. And I am going to begin…" 


End file.
